


running on empty

by cowboy_casey



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Eating disorders being portrayed in a positive light, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, not a reflection of my actual views tho !!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboy_casey/pseuds/cowboy_casey
Summary: Ethan glared at the package of chips halfheartedly, desperately trying to keep his hands from reaching out and tearing the bag open as though his life depended on not eating the cheesy snack. He wanted them (god did he want them), but he knew he couldn't live with the repercussions. It was mildly concerning, a small part of him thought, considering he had never thought about the "repercussions " of food before.- - - - -Ethan's attitude towards his body lately has been pretty worrisome, so I decided to write a fic where that was taken to the extreme.
Relationships: Amy Nelson & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 195
Kudos: 637





	1. Oreos

**Author's Note:**

> please mind the tags!! i'm going to try my best to paint a realistic picture of how this disorder actually affects people based off of my own experiences and research, which does include glorifying EDs through Ethan's perspective. while many sufferers don't view this behavior as harmful (especially in the early stages) that is Absolutely untrue, and if you find yourself struggling with something like this /please/ seek help. EDs aren't fun and games, or something that just "goes away once you reach your goal" as many believe. take care of yourselves guys <3

Ethan stared at the boxes of oreos. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that it was just a simple question. Mark just wanted to know what kind of oreo he wanted, not the answers to the universe. It wasn’t that hard. But the less logical part of his brain - the one currently blanking in a fit of panic - felt like this decision was life or death. Getting fat or losing weight.

“I like double stuff, but let's do regular,” he eventually answered. His friend paused in reaching for the double stuffed oreos, and Ethan’s breath caught in his throat at Mark’s hesitation. He didn’t know why, exactly, he was so scared of how Mark reacted to the choice. It wasn’t like he had confessed to murdering anyone, or having some other dirty secret. Nevertheless, the panic remained, and after a beat of silence he laughed awkwardly to throw off the perceived one-sided tension. “‘Cause we’re going to be eating so many oreos, you know? Let’s just do regular.”

“We could _try_ both,” Mark shot back. His voice had a subtle hard edge to it - not something you would notice unless you were looking for it. Maybe he was upset about buying both boxes if Ethan only wanted to use one, but he had a feeling that that wasn’t the reason and that scared him even more. The younger man averted his eyes and giggled nervously again. His left hand gripped tightly onto his right wrist, reminding himself of what he was fighting for.

Ethan sucked in a deep breath before nodding. “We _could_ try both,” he ultimately conceded, deciding that he didn’t want to argue in the middle of a video. That would be _weird_ , even if the innocuous box scared the shit out of him. He stared at the package of double stuff once more, breathing out slowly through his nose.

After a beat, he nodded again, more resolutely this time, and looked back up at his friend. The strange, almost searching, look in his dark brown eyes made the nerves in his stomach reappear, but he ignored it, desperately trying not to let on that something was wrong. Even if the logical part of his mind screamed that being scared of a slightly-more-filled oreo was definitely, undeniably wrong. 

They maintained eye contact, Mark seemingly trying to pry into his very soul and Ethan frantically trying to slam shut and lock the doors to his thoughts before he could. Finally, Mark smiled thinly, and they moved onto the first dunk.

Minus the beginning hiccup, the rest of the video flew by without an obvious hitch. They had gagged at certain combinations, Mark found a couple that he liked, and they had had enough banter and content for a decent-length video. Ethan heaved a sigh of relief once they had dunked the last oreos, thankful that the ordeal was over. He was so sick of trying to force the cookie into his mouth, down his throat, and not think about the consequences of doing so.

However, he had managed to make the situation slightly easier on himself - he had thrown away half the oreo once they had reached the “grosser” liquids, knowing that he could blame the waste on the horrid flavor. Because of this he thankfully wasn’t as close to breaking down as he thought he’d be.

He could live with the calories as long as he didn’t eat anything until the next day.

Satisfied, they turned off all of the cameras, getting ready to take a break from filming. Easy jokes and banter flew between them as they stacked cups in the sink and Ethan tossed expired food, and the inner turmoil he had felt before seemed to melt away.

“Hey, Ethan?” Mark asked from the sink, after most of the mess had been cleaned up. His voice was soft, and concerned enough that Ethan looked up at him immediately. The older man turned slightly towards him at the waist, and Ethan could see that his eyebrows were furrowed and his forehead was creased with worry. Another small spike of panic shot through him seeing his friend so concerned. “I noticed that you, uh… You kept tossing the oreos away today. Does that have anything to do with what you said when we were filming the cookie dough video?”

For the second time that day his breath hitched, terrified of being caught. Which was strange, because he was an adult who could make his own choices, and there wasn’t anything _wrong_ with dieting anyway. Still, the fear remained, and he spiralled into his own brain trying to remember his excuse from earlier.

When he looked back up, Mark’s narrowing eyes and sharp, curious gaze snapped him out of his panicked daze and he startled back to reality. “Oh, I didn’t think you noticed. No, it doesn’t have to do with what I said - which was a joke, by the way, haha funny comedy," he used an over-the-top weird voice, trying hard to sell what he was saying, "- they were just gross.” He knew it was a poorly constructed lie, and judging by the look on Mark’s face he knew it too. His friend's face fell before he pursed his lips and smoothed out his features, letting out a long sigh. His eyes remained just as intense, though, boring into Ethan’s own.

A tense silence passed between the two before the older man broke eye contact. “Okay then. It’s a big waste of food, though.”

Ethan nodded, guilt clogging his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, most likely an apology, but closed it a moment later. It was fine. It would all be fine once he reached his goal. He was sure of it.


	2. Mocktails

A few days passed without incident and Ethan revelled in the lack of attention to food. He didn’t have to worry about someone calling him out or, god forbid, forcing him to finish a meal. It was convenient, and allowed him to fast for two days in a row - something he was weirdly proud of. 

Unfortunately, the reprieve only lasted for a short while. Someone had suggested trying “non-alcoholic adult drinks” and Mark had jumped at the idea, dragging Ethan kicking and screaming behind him. 

The day of the video finally came, and Mark had taken the camera with him as he walked the aisles of the grocery store. He was looking for the alcohol-substitutes they needed for the video, leaving Ethan alone. 

The bright red of the coca-cola packaging caught his attention as he halfheartedly scanned over the beverage aisle, coaxing him to a stop. He never drank it much when he wasn’t on his diet, but now that he was cutting out anything “unhealthy” he would have done some pretty extreme things for a simple can. Mouth watering, he blamed the grumbling in his stomach on the hunger-inducing properties of the color red and quickly moved on. 

As he walked, he noticed one of the brand names they had looked at before and gingerly picked the bottle up. It was a pretty peach color, but Ethan didn’t notice in favor of going straight to the calorie count in a serving. 

The small little numbers seemed to mock him. There were 50 calories, which was basically 100, which might as well have been _500_ , which was halfway to 1,000, and who _knows_ how many servings they’d actually be drinking? He would probably end up drinking a day’s worth of calories just in this drink, and then he would get hungry later and stuff himself until he was worse off than when he started this diet! That couldn't happen, he would make sure of it. 

While Ethan was trying to plan a way out of this, Mark wandered down the aisle, smiling brightly when he saw the younger. “Hey, there you are! I’ve been looking all over this goddamn store for you.” When Ethan didn’t look up, Mark’s smile fell slightly. “Dude. Ethan. Hello?” He snapped a finger in his face, brows furrowing as his friend seemed to startle out of a trance of sorts. 

“Oh, hi Mark! I was just, uh, checking to make sure these didn’t have alcohol in them. What’ve you been doing?” He stammered out, throwing in an awkward chuckle to really sell the idea. 

“Looking for you. I just said that - are you good, man?” He put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder and the man struggled not to push it off. He didn’t want Mark to touch him - he didn’t want _anybody_ to touch him. They would feel the squishy fat still clinging to him and be almost as disgusted with it as he was. 

He smiled thinly, tensing up as Mark’s hand stayed on his shoulder. “Yeah, of course. Just checking that there’s no alcohol. Like I said. We should probably get some hearing aids for you mister -”

“It says right on the front that it’s non-alcoholic.”

“Better safe than sorry!” Ethan chorused, putting the bottle back. He reached for another brand before Mark grabbed the previous bottle back.

“Wait, what was wrong with this one?” The older man twisted it around, inspecting it for whatever Ethan must have seen to make him put it back. “Wow, 50 calories?” 

The younger man smiled, glad he wasn’t the only one who thought that the number was absurd. Hopefully, they could just put the bottle back and hunt for one that would do less damage then. “I know, right? It’s so much! We might as well be drinking liquid fat. Let’s look at -”

“‘So much?’” Mark repeated, dumbfounded. “Ethan, I don’t know what you drink but that’s… that’s not a lot at all. I was honestly expecting something closer to 100.” 

Ethan’s smile fell a little, and his relieved expression was quickly replaced by one of confusion and discomfort. “What are you talking about? That’s, like, basically 100.” Mark’s eyes widened almost comically, and a small uncomfortable smile appeared on his face.

“Wow dude, you’re, like, really bad at math. You think _50_ is nearly 100?” Ethan shrugged, looking away. Maybe Mark didn’t get it after all. It made sense - the man was a healthy weight, and maybe he had less muscle than before quarantine but it suited him nicely! He didn’t have to diet like Ethan did, or be mindful of what he ate. Part of him was jealous of that fact, but a larger part was happy his friend didn’t have to restrict like he did. 

“Hah, yeah. Maybe it’s not the same for you, but some of us have to watch what we eat to get that _sexy bod._ ” He used a weird voice and an over-exaggerated wink in a last-ditch attempt to salvage the conversation, and judging by Mark’s expression it didn’t work. 

“Watch what you eat? It - It’s _50 calories_. What kind of metabolism do you have that you can’t have 50 calories?” The older man threw his hands out wide while he talked, gesturing wildly before ultimately running a hand through his hair. 

Ethan shrugged again. “A bad one?” He tried to keep calm, knowing that Mark wasn’t intentionally poking fun at him - he just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand that eating over his limit would cause fat to grow and stick on his body. He didn’t understand that it would take ages to work it off - hours of exercise for one measly 50-cal drink. “Look, let’s just look for something with a few less calories, and if we can’t find any then we can just buy that.”

“Okay,” Mark finally agreed, giving him a worried once-over. “Sure, we can look for something else.” 

Doing the actual video was almost worse. All he could think about was how many calories he was consuming and how long he would have to exercise that night to work off the inevitable fat. 

“You know, I don’t think this one is doing it for me.” Mark said, smacking his lips. “No, this one - this one just tastes like ass.” He burst out laughing at himself, and looked over at Ethan to check if he was laughing too. The younger man didn’t join him and Mark’s laughter slowly died out, letting worry overtake him. 

Ethan was stuck inside of his own head, just staring at the glass. The drink seemed to mock him with it's fruity scent and appetizing appearance. He wanted it _so_ badly, but it was only noon and he had already had so many - he was never going to make it the rest of the day.

Feeling Mark’s eyes on him, Ethan looked up. He smiled sheepishly at the older man, though it turned out more of a grimace. “What? Sorry, completely zoned out.” 

Mark’s eyes narrowed as he frowned. “You weren’t - You haven’t even tried your drink yet!” He pointed at Ethan’s mocktail accusingly, raising his voice as he realized just how full the glass was. “You know what, let’s just scrap this. It’s obvious you have something else on your mind.” Sighing heavily, he ran a hand over his face. After a beat his shoulders dropped, releasing the tension gathered there. “What’s up with you, man?” Mark asked softly. Glancing at his friend, he lowered his voice even more. “You know you can talk to me if you need to, Eth.”

“No! No, god, I’m sorry. I’m fine, we can keep doing the video. I’ll focus more on it, promise” Ethan stammered, waving his hands around in a panicked frenzy. He was almost begging Mark to continue, to stop _looking_ at him like that. “I’m fine.”

Mark was silent for a minute, eyes roaming over Ethan’s face, Ethan’s _body_. He was about to say something until the older man sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, man. Let’s just… Keep going then.” 

Ethan smiled tightly, averting his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he was okay with eating or drinking something, even if it was just to get Mark to stop looking at his failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any concrit is greatly appreciated !! i'm pretty new to this whole writing thing, so if you have any advice you don't mind sharing please don't hesitate to comment ! ^^


	3. Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter - there's moments where ethan fatshames himself and ties his weight into his self worth. while this is common with eds, its not at all accurate and i do not want that to be the takeaway.

Ethan stumbled mid-step and just barely caught himself on the wall of some nearby building, taking in a deep breath before shakily righting himself. Tripping over nothing was getting more and more common these days - something that had never happened to him. Finally the blackness at the edges of his vision faded and he was able to walk again. 

Mark’s house was miles away, and even though he needed to lose weight he couldn’t possibly walk the whole way. Just… a couple of streets. Enough to get in a small workout. After parking his car in a lot, tucked away in the far corner of the top level, he started a brisk pace towards his friend’s house.

Almost an hour of walking later he had finally made it to the big white house. His breathing was labored and his vision was going fuzzy, making him irrationally upset with himself. Never in his life had he been so out of shape - this diet really was for the better. Trying to hide his wheezing, he knocked on the door, leaning subtly against the frame. 

The door opened quickly, revealing Ethan’s friend. “Ethan! You’re finally here. Come on, we’re, like, thirty minutes behind.” He quickly ushered the younger in, kicking the door shut with his foot as he sped over to the recording equipment. “So I was thinking we could do that glass idea -”

“Glass idea?” Ethan echoed. He scrunched his face in confusion. “What glass idea?” 

Mark grabbed a handful of cheap wine glasses from the kitchen counter and set them on the table in the dining room. “Where we break glass by screaming at it. Come on, you were here for that.” 

“I was?” 

“Yes? Now come on; we have to film this before four. Just- follow my lead, okay?” Giving up, Ethan sat down in his chair, picking up the thin glass. Mark checked that everything was recording once more before sitting down himself. “We’re going to be singing high enough to shatter them.” 

“Oh,” was all Ethan said before the video started. 

Throughout filming he got more and more lightheaded. He thought that the fog settled in his brain from walking would clear by now, but with all of the screaming and high notes it was only made worse and more painful. Thinking and focusing on the video was increasingly difficult. And he found himself gripping onto the edges of the table for balance. 

Suddenly remembering the glass shattering videos he had seen previously, he decided in his foggy mind that the best course of action was to sing as high and loud as he could at the glass. Using his “head voice” rather than his “chest voice” had only made his headache worse, though, and he hunched over the table for support. “I’m gonna pass out -” he groaned, sucking in a sharp breath and falling even lower. Resting his head on his knees in an attempt to clear the fog, Ethan whimpered softly. The black haze in his peripherals came back, and the world seemed out-of-focus and blurry for another minute. 

Mark leaned down to look at him and his eyes widened at the exhausted way Ethan held himself. He moved a comforting hand in between his shoulder blades, moving it in circular motions. “Ethan? Are you good, man?” 

“No.” Ethan groaned again, letting out a shaky sigh. He never felt like this back in his gymnast days, when he was working out constantly and staying in shape. Unlike the sorry sack of shit he found himself to be now. Hell, he couldn’t even _sing_ without getting light-headed! How overweight was he? It was obvious that he needed to work out more - even restrict his intake of junk foods and sweets. The walk over had been one of the best he had had in awhile. 

“Do you need a break -”

Grimacing, he sat back up and shrugged Mark’s hand off of him. “ _No._ Let’s keep going.” If he couldn’t get through a simple Unus Annus video then he was completely hopeless. 

Ethan didn’t want to be completely hopeless. 

“Okay, if you say so, Eth.” Mark’s eyes narrowed at the complete 180, but he stayed silent. They were behind schedule, and if Ethan said he was fine then Mark would believe it. Hesitantly he grabbed the glass again, singing with his mouth pressed against it. 

Still recovering, Ethan took a few deep breaths before joining in. His headache grew again, but he ignored it so as to not cause a scene. The straw was moving rapidly, and if he had just held it for a little _longer_... Unfortunately, his breath ran out, leaving him gasping inaudibly for air. Mark continued for a couple of seconds more, and barely even had to recover his breathing before he started again. 

Why couldn’t Ethan be more like him? 

Mark was strong, handsome, in-shape, and nowhere _near_ as weak as Ethan was. He worked out regularly - even just glancing at his arms proved that. Ethan was none of those. He was feeble, gross, overweight, and just _sad._ His diet wasn’t working in the slightest because he kept cheating, and his version of working out was to walk the few streets from his car to Mark’s house. 

He was a total failure compared to him. 

The video ended pretty quickly after that point. Mark smashed one of his expensive glasses and Ethan made sub-par commentary. Like usual. Finally, they wrapped up, and he made his way back to his car. 

Feeling faint and dizzy, Ethan pushed himself harder, working up to a mild jog. In his mind, he had committed to starting a workout plan when he got home, but for now jogging would have to do. Picking up speed, he raced up the stairs of the lot and to his car, blasting the A/C as soon as he locked the door. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. He needed to get back into shape _yesterday._

“ _Fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! oh my gosh, i'm sorry this took so long for me to make. It's been pretty hard to focus on anything long enough to finish it lately fjdg
> 
> i'm also sorry the quality of this chapter is a little subpar! i'll try to keep it from becoming repeated, promise.


	4. Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh i'm so sorry this took so long to get out ! some irl stuff happened, and i had to take a short (read: long) break from this. i'm so happy that y'all are enjoying it though and i'll try to update more consistently in the future!

“Let’s take a break and get some lunch, yeah?” Mark asked, pushing back his chair from the table. His joints popped as he stood up, causing him to let out a little pleased groan. “We can talk about Unus Annus ideas.”

Ethan’s head shot up to look at Mark. Icy panic crept down his spine like trickling water at the thought of eating, and his stomach turned uncomfortably. He couldn’t eat yet, he was still supposed to be fasting! Twenty-seven hours had gone by since he last ate - having lunch would ruin all of his hard work. If anything, he’d _gain_ weight from it. There was no way he could accept Mark’s offer.

On the other hand, though, Mark would get worried. Ethan hadn’t had lunch with Mark in, well, ages. It was definitely a change from the near-daily breakfast and lunch they’d shared before his diet. Hell, Ethan was even at Mark’s house for dinner, too, more often than not. Going from eating together every day to never eating would cause Mark to be concerned.

If Mark got worried, he’d ask questions. Questions that Ethan couldn’t answer for fear of making his friend even _more_ worried, even if there was nothing to worry about because he was _fine_. Ethan knew the older man wouldn’t agree, though, and he’d try to make Ethan stop. If he stopped he’d gain back all of the weight he had lost, and the progress he had been making over the past month would be ruined! Surely gaining back _everything_ would be more disastrous than breaking one fast.

So it was decided, whatever happened, he could not let Mark in on his diet.

Realizing that the acceptable time for a response had passed, he stuttered out a quick yes, cursing himself internally. Even though Mark smiled, Ethan felt like curling up into a hole and dying. Keeping his friend in the dark about his diet was the best course of action, but that didn’t mean that eating wouldn’t have any repercussions at all. Stuffing his face would make him look fat and bloated in the next few videos! Surely the viewers would comment on it - anonymous accounts pointing out how flabby he looked next to Mark. How insufferable he was compared to the older man.

He had never really thought much of the comment section before. Now, it felt like his life depended on pleasing the hundreds of thousands of strangers who thought they were entitled to his body.

But… Mark looked so pleased that he had accepted - even smiling when Ethan gave him his takeout order. If he didn’t eat, would Mark be disappointed in him? Would he demand to know why Ethan had wasted his money? The younger shivered at the idea, curling into himself slightly. He would hate to make Mark mad, or take advantage of his kind offer to buy food by not eating.

Even if he wasn’t mad at the younger for not eating, he would still force him to finish the meal out of some misguided “concern.” Mark would pester Ethan until he got an answer, and when he did he would treat him like a _child_. Supervising his meals as much as he could and forcing him to gain weight, checking in on him and how much he ate. He wasn’t sure he could handle that treatment.

While he was thinking, the doorbell rang throughout the house to announce the arrival of the food. Mark jumped up to answer the door, and Ethan tuned out the small talk he and the delivery man made. This was it. He was going to have to eat lunch for the first time in a _long_ time.

Finally, Mark set his order in front of him, tossing him a pack of plastic silverware from the bag. “Dude!” Ethan cried, bouncing his leg to expel the nervous energy building up within him. “Plastic? Are you _trying_ to kill the sea turtles?”

“Oh, ha ha. Come on, dig in - I paid good money for these plastic forks.”

And Ethan tried to. He carefully picked up the white utensil and twirled it around in his hand for a moment. Mark scooped a huge bite into his mouth, and Ethan hoped he didn’t notice the way his hand trembled.

The food did look good, but that only seemed to make the fear in his gut worse. Meals that tasted decent often had far too many calories for him, and he was already pushing it by eating lunch. He didn't need to gourge himself on a _fattening_ lunch on top of that. Carefully, Ethan pulled his phone out, angling the screen away from Mark.

Opening safari and typing quickly, he started entering " _How many calories are in_ ", not noticing Mark looking over his shoulder.

“Woah, that’s a lot of auto-fill. Why are you looking at the calorie count in all of that? Wait, _gum?_ Why…?” Mark trailed off, furrowing his brows in confusion. He pried his eyes away from the phone screen to look at Ethan’s face.

The younger man jumped, jerking his phone completely away before clumsily turning it off. “Oh! It’s, uh, just part of my diet! Trying to be mindful of what I eat, you know?” He smiled awkwardly, tossing his phone to the other side of the couch. A moment of silence passed, and Ethan hesitantly chuckled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“ _Gum?_ ” Mark repeated. He looked at Ethan’s body again, his eyes resting on Ethan’s wrists. An uncomfortable spike of self-consciousness twisted in his gut, and he squeezed his left wrist tightly, subconsciously aware of how his whole hand could _barely_ fit around it. "What kind of diet makes you count gum?”

Rolling his eyes like Mark was overreacting, he shrugged. "The one I'm on, duh." Every nonchalant move he made was to compensate for the fear coursing through him in waves, and he hoped his friend couldn't pick up on that. 

Mark frowned in irritation. "Well, _obviously_ , asshole, I meant -" Hearing the way his voice rose made him stop mid-sentence, and he let out a heavy sigh. He ran a hand down his face, letting the younger see the way his eyes softened and his bottom lip trembled like he was trying to hide how upset he really was.

Starting again, he took Ethan's hand. "I'm really worried about you, Eth." His thumb traced over old scars, and he took note of how prominent the bones were. "I haven't seen you eat in god knows how long, and... you keep bringing up calorie limits and diets that seem really strict. Almost unhealthy. Are you okay?" He squeezed his friend's hand, giving him that stupid searching gaze.

Ethan did pull away then. Panic and bile rose in his throat, clogging his airway for a brief moment. This was exactly what he was trying to prevent by eating! Now Mark had caught on anyways, and he was going to ruin his fast for nothing. The whole situation made him angry, and he turned away to shove a huge forkful of food into his mouth. "There," he mumbled, mouth still full, "I ate." 

"Ethan -"

"I _ate_." He cut Mark off, wiping his mouth. "Sorry that my diet makes you uncomfortable, but we can't all be Markiplier levels of fit." 

"What? Are you - what do you mean Markiplier levels of fit?" 

"Come _on_ , Mark, surely you've seen the comments comparing us." Mark's face scrunched up in confusion, and Ethan supressed the small bubbles of anger he felt at that, too. Of course Mark didn't know about that - he didn't _have_ to. He wasn’t the one who needed to get back in shape or the one compared to his better-looking friend. "Let's just eat lunch, okay? I'll eat the whole thing if you're so worried."

The older man bit his lip, giving Ethan another worried once-over. Ultimately he decided not to push it, and took another bite of his quickly-cooling food. 

Thirty minutes passed in awkward silence before they were done eating. Ethan felt uncomfortably full and nauseous, and he used that as an excuse to berate himself more. 

He didn't need to stuff himself like that! Why didn't he just eat until he was comfortably full? Now he was going to look awful for the next few videos, and everyone would know what a pig he was.

Desperately, he wished for a way to get rid of the food he ate. Anything he thought of would catch Mark's attention, though, and after the fiasco at lunch that was the _last_ thing he wanted. Ethan didn't want the other man to get anymore "proof" for whatever conclusion he was coming to. He knew Mark would use it to force-feed him until he was fat again. 

He could look it up, but he didn't want to risk the older man looking over his shoulder and prying again. This would surely be harder to explain than checking calories. Sighing, he decided to wait until he was alone

After a few more minutes Mark finally left to grab a few props, and Ethan whipped out his phone. He opened safari for the second time that day, quickly looking up _How to get food out of your body fast_. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but it was so _tempting._ Hopefully he could be completely empty again, and the light-headed feeling would come back.

The page loaded, and an article for expelling spoiled food came up, Ethan hesitantly clicked on it, biting his lip. The food he ate wasn't spoiled, but... the methods of getting rid of it must be the same, right? He skimmed through the article, stopping when he came to the first headline. 

The little purple letters read " _Throwing Up: How To Do It Quickly And Safely_ ", and Ethan immediately started reading the section. 

A small voice in the back of his mind told him that forcing himself to throw up was a thing in eating disorders, but he pushed it away. He didn't have an _eating disorder_! It was fine - he just needed to get this food out of him quickly. It wasn't a big deal. 

Looking around for Mark, he made his way to the bathroom, phone still in hand. Locking the door hastily, he slumped down next to the toilet. The cold tile pressed into him and he shifted slightly, angling himself in a different way so that the bony parts of him weren't pressed so hard against the floor. Was he really about to do this? Stick his fingers down his throat just to get rid of one meal? 

Taking a deep breath, he pinched the skin on his side and decided that he most certainly was. 

It didn't work. He had gone down his throat as far as he could, and he still couldn't get anything to come up. Tears and snot streamed down his face as he threw his head back onto the wall, collecting in a gross pool on his chin. The loud thud echoed in the room, making Ethan curse quietly. 

He got up after a minute, moving to flush the toilet. It was filled with spit and hints of blood, and he figured Mark wouldn't be too happy to stumble upon the scene. Sniffing, he watched as the dirty water spiralled down and away. 

Finally he stood up, wiping his face and mouth with toilet paper. Ethan didn't dare look at his reflection in the mirror - he already knew he looked like shit. Sniffing and wiping his eyes once more, he stumbled out of the bathroom and straight into Mark. 

Obviously surprised at Ethan's state, he cleared his throat, reaching out a hand to steady him. "Yikes, are you okay? You were in there a while, so I figured I'd check up on you. Did something happen?" 

He stepped back and looked away from Mark. Making eye contact would be too much - he couldn't stand to see that concerned look anymore. "No, nothing happened. I'm good." 

Ethan couldn't remember telling his friend a bigger lie. He was _far_ more fucked up than he thought, and he didn't know what he was going to do.


	5. Research

Small blue letters blinked up at him from his phone. Even though the brightness was turned all the way down in the dark room, the words still felt like they were burning him. 

“ _Eating Disorder Symptoms:_ ”

After his episode in the bathroom, Ethan hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything. He was only able to film two more videos before being sent home by Mark, and the entire time the memory of what he tried to do was on repeat in his mind. 

He couldn’t believe he had tried to force himself to throw up. That was something only people with eating disorders did, and… 

Well. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that. 

Unfortunately his curiosity spiked once he was alone in the middle of the night, and he found himself pulling out his phone and opening Safari. At first he had tried to find another explanation - something that reassured him that what he was doing was perfectly healthy and safe. Though after skimming any article he could find, forum archives, and even watching a few YouTube videos he was only pointed back to the one explanation he dreaded to think about. 

Shit, maybe he did have an eating disorder. 

Ethan closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He should at _least_ read the rest of the article, right? It couldn't hurt to know, and he might be wrong anyway. Everything would be _fine,_ there was no need to freak out like he was. 

Taking another breath, he finally allowed himself to scroll down. 

" _Anorexia Nervosa._ "

Almost instantly he turned his phone off and threw it to the end of his bed. He felt like he was suffocating and his stomach was trying to crawl up and out of his throat, cutting off his oxygen in the process. Everything was too much all at once and there was no way out.

What was wrong with him? 

Suddenly it was too hot under his duvet and he ripped it off, almost leaping out of his bed. He barely registered the cold floor of his bedroom under his feet as he fled the room and raced down the hall. It was too dark to see, but he had long since memorized his house well enough to make it to the kitchen. He needed a glass of water to calm down. 

Spencer lifted his head as Ethan walked by, dog tags jingling softly in the otherwise quiet home and alerting the young man. He smiled softly and quickly wiped the tears that were streaking down his face. “Come here, Spence,” he cooed, patting the tile next to where he had slumped onto the floor. “Come on.” 

Spencer padded into the kitchen, nails making soft clicking noises against the tile. The dog rested his head on his lap, and Ethan ran his hand through the soft fur. “There you go,” he muttered. Small sniffles still echoed in the tiny room, but they were becoming fewer and farther between. “Isn’t that nice?” 

He fell asleep there, curled up against the fridge and his dog at three in the morning. 

The next morning when Ethan woke up, Spencer was replaced by a nasty crick in his neck. 

Standing up, he stretched out his limbs and hissed out a quiet “fuck, never doing that again,” before walking back to his bedroom. Light poured in from the window, bathing the room in soft late-morning yellows and he silently basked in the peaceful atmosphere. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in like that, or seen how the sunlight lit up his room at this time of day. 

Unfortunately, his phone beeped from beneath the blankets he had haphazardly thrown onto the floor the night before, and Ethan gingerly bent down to pick it up. It was at 23% battery, but otherwise seemed undamaged despite how hard he had thrown it. Wincing at the memory, he scrolled through his notifications for anything important. 

Seeing that mark had texted him sometime that morning, he tapped on the message without thinking. 

_Mark: hey we didn’t exactly get to finish yesterday_ | sent 9:08   
_Mark: which is fine! you needed a break_ | sent 9:08  
 _Mark: but we might want to try finishing up today_ | sent 9:09  
 _Mark: ethan?_ | sent 10:14  
 _Mark: just let me know either way, i guess._ | sent 10:35

 _You: oh shit sorry! just woke up_ | sent: 11:49  
 _You: but yeah, that sounds good. see you in twenty?_ | sent 11:49

Ethan cursed at himself, running his free hand through his hair. Of course Mark would try to plan something - he should have set an alarm instead of having a weird breakdown at three in the morning! Now they were behind schedule and it was all his fault. Mark was going to _hate_ him.

He flopped down onto his bed and frowned up at the ceiling. Speaking of weird breakdowns, maybe it was for the better that he hadn’t looked at the symptoms. After all, they would be stuck in his head all day and he would never be able to focus on the videos they needed to film to get back on schedule. Everything was going to be ruined because he couldn’t control himself. Sighing, he checked his phone again. 

_Mark: no it’s fine. i guess you really needed that._ | sent 11:53  
 _Mark: see you in twenty_ | sent 11:53

“Shit,” he groaned, turning his phone off again. Mark _was_ mad at him. Trying not to panic, he quickly made his way to the bathroom and washed his face. Wiping off the dried tear tracks from the night before was more refreshing than he would have thought, and when he used eye drops for his crying-induced dry eyes he felt almost completely refreshed. The last thing he needed was a shower, but he knew it would take far too long. Instead he doubled up on deodorant, hoped it would be enough, and rushed to get dressed in something presentable.

Finally, he made his way out of his room and into the living room, grabbing his keys and shoes on the way. “Come on, Spence! We’re going to Mark’s!” Ethan smiled as the dog happily trotted up to him and he quickly clipped the leash on his collar and brought him out to the car. 

Fifteen minutes later, he found himself at Mark’s house. Mourning the missed exercise opportunity, he parked his car in the driveway and walked up to the front door with Spencer. While he needed to burn off the calories from lunch the day before, he didn’t want to make his friend wait any longer than he already had, and walking could take up to an hour of time he didn’t have. 

The door opened then, revealing Mark’s smiling face. “Ethan! You’re finally here.” A pang of guilt settled in Ethan’s stomach then, and he smiled nervously. He could barely comprehend what Mark had said - he was too caught up in the apology he was writing in his head. 

As soon as he stepped inside Mark swung the door closed, hardly flinching at the loud bang that echoed throughout the house. Ethan curled into himself slightly at the gesture and bit his lip as he trailed his friend into the house. He needed to apologize soon, but he didn’t know what to say that would make this situation better. Plus, what if the moment had passed? What if Mark was silently fuming because he couldn’t even muster up the courage to say sorry? 

Swallowing nervously, he decided to just go for it. “Mark? I’m so, so sorry that I made you wait. I don’t know what got into me last night - I was up really late and then forgot to set an alarm, and then I overslept - which isn’t an excuse of course! I should’ve been here -” He cut himself off as the older man turned around, eyebrows raised almost into his hairline. 

“Sorry?” 

_Shit,_ Ethan internally cursed. “Sorry, I know a stupid sorry isn’t enough, but I promise to try and go fast today! Without sacrificing the videos of course -” 

“No, Ethan why are you saying sorry? It’s fine. You needed the sleep, man. And we’re not even behind schedule yet anyway.” He cocked his head at Ethan’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You didn’t think I was mad over you sleeping in, did you? We both know you’ve done that enough times over the course of the channel.” Laughing, he turned back around and continued walking. 

He knew now that Mark was just teasing and didn’t mean anything by it, but Ethan still couldn’t help but feel hurt by the comment. It was true, he _had_ been sleeping in recently. Not only was he getting lazy with his food, but he was falling behind with his channels, too, and that was unacceptable. 

Making up his mind, he decided to put his “research” on an indefinite hiatus. He couldn’t afford to make up all of these problems with his life - he had more important things to worry about and trying to make himself feel special would only interfere with that. Smiling tightly, Ethan followed after Mark, helping him set up the equipment for that day’s recording.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so close... yet so far. 
> 
> this chapter certainly didn't go the way i planned lmao. initially i was going to have ethan realize that what he's doing is Wrong, but i guess it'll take him a little longer to get the help he needs now ! at least he has spencer to cry to :(
> 
> anyway, thank you guys for all of the sweet comments!! they are 1000% of my motivation to continue and absolutely make my day when i see them !! i hope y'all have an amazing day, and i wish you the best of luck on any endeavors you're pursuing atm <3


	6. Drive

Cold air blew into his face, whipping his hair around to frame his head like a deformed halo. Soft amber light fell on him from the streetlights, and Ethan humorlessly imagined that he looked like a deranged angel. 

The last thing he felt right then was angelic.

His footfalls echoed loudly in the quiet street, and he internally cringed at the thought of disturbing someone in their home. It was nearly midnight, and Ethan had been running for an hour, just circling the neighborhood. Somebody was bound to have seen or heard him by now. 

Finally he let out a broken gasp, tripping over himself and falling into the lawn of the house next to him. His knees stung from where they had scraped against the sidewalk, though the sharp pain distracted him from the burning in his stomach and lungs. “Ow…” 

The cold air stung his nose and mouth as he fought to regain his breath, only adding to the discomfort currently plaguing him. He felt like he was going to black out at any second - gasping for breath in a strange neighborhood with a fuzzy and spotted vision of the sky.

There were never any stars out.

The dewy grass felt nice against his palms and he grasped at it, desperate to have something to hold onto. His head felt floaty, though not in a good way. Ethan needed to get out of there. 

After a minute he sat up, careful of his head and the way he was getting increasingly woozy. Judging by the way his vision clouded with spots and dark red around the edges, he wasn’t going to make it home any time soon on his own. 

But… calling somebody would be annoying. They would need to get up just for him, and drive all the way to a neighborhood they didn’t even know _in the middle of the night!_

A cold gush of air blew past him again. He shivered violently, not reacting well with the night time chill. It was slightly concerning - he had never been particularly cold before and now he was shivering in sixty degree weather. Sighing, he pushed it off for later and focused on swiping through his contacts.

After a few minutes, he finally had it narrowed down to two people. Mika or Mark. Mika was the only person he knew who would be close by at this hour, but… that would be an _extremely_ awkward ride home, even if they had broken up on good terms. 

Mark… Usually wasn’t awake at this hour, but Ethan remembered him saying he was going to be working late that night on something. Plus, they had a history of picking the other up at random hours - especially now that they were filming Unus Annus. 

Still, he was probably busy. And Ethan knew that Mark was starting to catch on that there was something wrong. Well, not _wrong_ \- but _different_. Nothing was wrong and he was sure of it.

Even if sitting on a stranger’s lawn and shivering when it was otherwise warm out wasn’t exactly normal. 

Nevertheless, he was cold and _tired_ , and wanted to be in his soft, warm bed. He wasn’t trying to think rationally at the moment - he was trying to go to sleep. So, he dialed Mark’s number, biting his lip as the dial tone played. 

A few moments later, Mark picked up. His words were groggy with exhaustion, but Ethan didn’t notice. “Eth? It’s one, dude. What do you need?”

“I, uh…” He chuckled nervously and bit at his thumbnail. Mark was going to be annoyed, and Ethan didn’t have the energy to deal with that. He didn’t have the energy to walk home, though, and he figured one of those things was more important. “I need your help. I’m stuck in a neighborhood I don’t know and… I’m kinda too tired to walk home?”

“You - what - You’re in a neighborhood you don’t know? How did you even get there? And why are you too tired to walk home? Wait, why do you need _me?_ ”

Slightly overwhelmed with all the questions, Ethan took a deep breath to calm down before answering. “I was running and then I got distracted - haha, silly Eef, right? - and now I’m lost and exhausted and I really want to go home Mark so _please_. Please just pick me up.”   
“I…” Mark sighed heavily, and Ethan heard something rustling in the background in the long pause that followed. He was beginning to think that the older man had hung up on him, which he was half-expecting. It would be _awful_ for him, but it made sense. Fortunately, Mark spoke again. “Fine. But you better answer my questions when I get there. And buy me a large pizza or something.” 

“Yes, yeah, of course! Thank you so much. I’ll buy you, like, three pizzas.” The line clicked dead, and Ethan was left alone again. 

Why had he come out here? He could’ve run around like a lunatic in his own neighborhood - distracted his own neighbors and passed out in his own lawn. 

Then again, maybe that was the exact reason he went to somewhere he had never heard of before. If he stayed near his house and passed out, people would _know_ him. They would know who he was and where he lived - and then they’d gossip, tweeting about a has-been YouTuber who passed out on his neighbors lawn for no discernible reason, an alcoholic who tried to drown out his sorrows by stumbling around drunk at three in the morning. 

Sometimes he hated the recognition that came with being a “public figure.” It seemed like everyone thought they knew him better than himself because he posted a fraction of his life online.

The wind picked up again, ripping him from his thoughts and making him shiver violently for the nth time that evening. He rubbed his arms halfheartedly to warm himself up, though it was a futile effort. Ever since the start of his diet he had been getting colder and colder, and now he was constantly freezing. Maybe he should try wearing long sleeves.

A car pulled around the corner, then, blinding him with its headlights. It was hard to tell the color in the dark, but Ethan knew it was Mark’s from how many times he had ridden in it. He stood up on shaky legs, smiling widely at his saving grace. At the small wave from his friend, he clambered into the passenger seat. 

Still shivering, he turned on the heat for his side of the car before smiling at Mark again. “Thank you, dude. Really. I would’ve froze out there or something.”

Mark, however, stared straight ahead, fingers tight on the steering wheel. He did nothing to acknowledge the other man in his car aside from glancing at him once. A queasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, and Ethan bit his lip to try and dispel some of the nerves. 

Hesitantly, he looked over at Mark again. He didn’t want to anger his only ride home, but he needed to know that his friend wasn’t mad at him. “Mark?” 

The older man sighed heavily, fingers curling impossibly tighter on the steering wheel. “What, Ethan?”

“Are you… Are you mad at me?” He jumped as the car swerved and grabbed for the handle near the roof of the car. “Holy shit.” 

“Am I _mad_ at you? Are you seriously asking - _yes_ , dumbass. I’m royally pissed off right now. You call me at one in the morning, _begging_ for a ride home because you’re ‘too tired’ to walk home, knowing that I have shit to finish, and you just prance into my car like everything is fucking normal when it’s _not!_ ” Mark’s voice raised the longer he talked and his face darkened in anger. Once the outburst was over, Ethan scooted as far as he could from Mark, curling into himself slightly. 

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t need to. I would’ve appreciated the workout of walking home anyway, but I -”

“See? You say shit like that and then you just expect me to move past it! Like normal people say things like ‘I’m too exhausted to _walk_ but I would’ve liked to workout _more_ ’ and just move on with their day!” 

Feeling insulted, Ethan straightened himself out slightly, peering over at Mark. “‘Normal people?’ What the fuck does that mean?”

The older man sighed again, turning onto a back street before responding. All of the anger seemed to dissipate from his body, and he slumped forward slightly. “I don’t mean it like that. But - and I mean this in the nicest way possible - something is wrong with you -”

“Nothing is wrong -”

“Whether you like it or not. I mean, just - just look at you!” He pulled the car over, turning to face Ethan completely. His eyes roamed over his friend, taking note of how bony his joints were and how pale and dry his skin looked. It was a concerning sight, and much different from the bouncy, healthy person Ethan had been before quarantine. He could barely recognize his own friend.

The younger curled up again, pulling his shorts down self-consciously. He had forgotten that his body was exposed and everyone could see his shame, and he wanted to cry at his stupidity. Mark was probably laughing internally at how pathetic he was. Ethan’s face twisted up and he quickly turned towards the window to hide the hot tears spilling down his face. 

“I fucking _get it_ , okay? I know I’m fat, I don’t need you pointing it out -”

“ _Fat?_ Eth, that just proves my point.” He shook his head at Mark’s words, biting his lip even harder. He refused to believe anything the older was saying. “You’re not fat. You look like a fucking skeleton.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Ethan hissed. He didn’t want to be given false hope that anything he did was actually working. 

Mark sniffed, and Ethan’s head shot over to look at him. Even though his friend was still staring straight ahead with a white-knuckle grip on the wheel, he could see the few tears running down his cheeks. Why was he getting so emotional?

“I’m trying to be as supportive as I possibly can.” His words were broken and stuttered, but he carried on anyway. “But you need to get your shit together. I care about you as a friend, as family, as -” another stuttering inhale “- though there’s only so much I can do. I can’t help you if you aren’t going to help yourself.” 

Still not wanting to believe anything Mark was saying, Ethan turned away again. It was easier to watch the faint outline of a tree in the dark than his friend breaking down over him and his pathetic problem. “I don’t need -”

“Yes, you fucking do!” Mark shouted. He composed himself again, turning back onto the road and beginning to drive. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m just _scared,_ Ethan. You call me at one in the morning to pick you up looking like you’re on death’s door just to tell me you’re fat and need to workout more and it’s _scary_. I don’t want you in pain.”

Ethan let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s a bit late for that.” 

Mark gripped the steering wheel tighter and set his jaw. A new batch of tears started welling in his eyes and he let them fall - too tired to care. “Yeah. It is.” Finally they turned onto Ethan’s street, and he stopped the car just outside of the younger’s house. “Just… stay safe. That’s all I can ask of you right now. I love you, Ethan, and I’m here for you.” 

Ethan blinked, dumbfounded. He paused in getting out of the car and turned to look at Mark one last time before leaving. “Uh - thanks. You too.” Wincing at his awkward reply, he scrambled to leave, hurrying up his driveway. 

Mark watched him go, biting his lip in concern and frustration. Once Ethan closed the door behind him he slammed his head on the wheel, letting out a long string of curse words. He had some research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! i'm sorry for the wait on this one. school's kicking my ass lmao. how about y'all?


	7. Movies

Mark stood up, stretching out his limbs with a satisfying pop. He had been sitting at his desk for nearly twelve hours - juggling a mixture of filming, editing, and research, only getting up occasionally for breaks. 

Ethan had truly scared him the other night. The older man didn’t want to say anything, but he could hear how raspy and stuttered the other man’s breath was, and how his limbs shook when he did something as simple as turn the heat on.

Yes, Mark was pissed at having to leave the house that late, but he would always be there for a friend when they needed him, even at one in the morning. Especially if they looked as haggard as Ethan did. 

After dropping him off, Mark immediately drove home and started scrambling to find out anything he could. If there was _anything_ he could do to help his friend with this he would do it in a heartbeat. Sleep wasn’t as important as Ethan was, and if he had any doubts before the vision of the younger’s thin hand shaking as he adjusted the heat quickly changed his mind. 

Making his way to the kitchen, he gave Chica a few pets as he passed her. The fluffy fur beneath his fingers brought him slightly back to the present. Staring at a screen for too long always made a thick haze settle in his mind, and he often needed a few minutes to adjust to the real world once more. 

Ecstatic from the attention, Chica wiggled happily as she followed him into the kitchen. Her nails clicked gently on the floors, allowing Mark to come back to the present that much quicker. He smiled at her - a welcome reprieve from the ache of constantly frowning - and pet her once more. “You’re not getting anything, Beeks,” he teased. Chica didn’t seem to understand or care. 

Sighing gently, Mark stood up straight again, barely registering the late-afternoon sun on his back. He needed to take a break from his computer for at least an hour, and the faint rumbling in his stomach gave him a perfect excuse. 

Chica watched him as he moved about the kitchen slowly, gathering ingredients for a small meal. It felt nice, being able to slow down and just make something for himself for once - feeling the warmth of the sunlight as it streamed in from the window and looking back at the golden dog in a playful staring contest. With everything happening recently he hadn’t had time for a simple evening. 

He stared at his food as it sizzled in the pan, getting lost in the small bubbles occasionally popping up. Was this really what Ethan had trouble with? Eating? Mark had to assume so, but… it seemed so simple. The stove clicked as he turned the heat off and dumped the contents of the pan on his plate. 

Making his way to the table, he couldn’t stop thinking about the younger man. All signs pointed to him having an eating disorder, but Mark still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Did he really think of food as some sort of… enemy? An obstacle to avoid whenever he could? Having grown up with food as a comfort and meals as a way to express love, he couldn’t understand how someone could just… hate it. 

Then again, maybe he didn’t have to. He scooped a bite into his mouth, looking out the window at the setting sun. It wasn’t necessary for him to _understand_ , he just had to support his friend. Even if he didn’t quite understand, he’d do anything he could. 

The dining room dimmed as the sun finally fell below the horizon, leaving him in a faint darkness. His plate was nearly empty by now, but he didn’t bother getting up from the table - too lost in thought. How could he even help his friend? Almost two months had passed since he started noticing Ethan eating less and he had done _nothing_. Only _now_ was he realizing that his new “diet” was probably going too far - how could he hope to help at all?

Mark groaned, pillowing his head on his arms. “Chica, what am I going to do?” 

Chica only gave a small boof in reply, nudging her nose against his knee. 

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

The sound of keys jingling in the door snapped him out of his trance, and he quickly finished up placing the breakfast he was cooking onto two plates. “Morning!” Mark called as the door opened, rounding the corner with two plates in hand, “I made breakfast.” 

Ethan startled at the sudden appearance of his friend, glancing back and forth from his face to the plate. “Oh,” he breathed. Smiling awkwardly and winking, he grabbed one of the plates. “Thanks _babe!_ You really didn’t have to.” 

Ignoring the way the pet name gave him a small fluttery feeling in his stomach, Mark smiled and moved towards the table. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” 

The sun lit up the room as they ate, basking the room in a soft yellow unique to the morning. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Ethan and watching the way the sun caught in his hair as he moved. It was almost as peaceful as the night before had been, though Mark felt as though this moment was better. More peaceful. 

The younger man giggled slightly uncomfortably, glancing over at Mark. “What? What’re you looking at, mister?” 

“Nothing,” he whispered, quickly turning back to his food. He wasn’t oblivious to the way his face flushed and his smile grew more fond by the second, after all. “Just lost in thought. Did you like the food?” 

Ethan blinked, probably at the change in subject, before clearing his throat. “Oh, it’s good. Thanks. I think I’m done, though.” Mark didn’t even need to look down to know that it was mostly full. 

“You sure? You’ve barely even touched it. Is my cooking that bad?” 

Arms flailing, Ethan quickly backtracked. “No, no it’s not bad! It’s _really_ good, I promise. I’m just full.” The sun lit up Ethan’s eyes, and Mark had to look away to focus on the problem at hand. 

Frowning slightly, he cleared his throat. Chica looked up at him worriedly, and he ran a careful hand through the fur on her head. It was nice. Grounding. “Are you actually full, or have you just reached a calorie limit?” 

“What -” the younger choked on his spit, thumping himself harshly in the chest. Even though he cringed as his friend put a hand on his back, he didn’t move away, giving Mark a small spark of triumph.

Finally, Ethan stopped coughing. The older man’s eyes followed his hands as they fluttered around, knowing that trying to get him to meet his eyes was a losing battle. “What do you mean? By calorie limit.” The sun was higher in the sky now. Chica and Spencer were probably getting impatient waiting for their morning walk.

“I think you know what I mean, Eth.” 

The loud squeal of the chair echoed in the room as he stood up abruptly, recklessly grabbing the plate and leaving Mark alone at the table. He watched as Chica padded after him, tail swaying gently in hopes of getting some leftovers or affection. Watched as Ethan dumped out the rest of the food, an unreadable expression on his face. Watched as Ethan grabbed his phone and keys, already making to leave. 

Somehow, he stood up in time to block Ethan’s path, keeping him from the front door. The transition from sitting to standing barely even registered in his mind, and he put his hands on Ethan’s shirt to come back down from the small rush of adrenaline. “Woah, what the fuck dude? You can’t just dip on me.”

Ethan’s jaw hardened, and he looked down at Spencer. A flash of irritation shot through Mark, but he pushed it down in favor of getting his friend to stay. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

Spencer whined at Ethan, looking back and forth from the two men. It was obvious he had picked up on the negative feelings swirling between them and wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Mark couldn’t help but agree. 

_You need to talk about this, though,_ he pleaded mentally. Even now Ethan was shaking, growing pale from standing up so quickly and staying there. He shouldn’t look so sickly after standing for _five minutes_. Mark desperately wanted to sit him down and talk things through - get him to understand that he couldn’t limit his food like he was and heal him so that they could finish breakfast together and film and be _fine_. 

But the real world didn’t work like that. _Ethan_ didn’t work like that. So Mark settled on letting his face crumble and gripping tightly onto his friend’s shirt - as though he was scared he’d blow away - hoping that he could get the message across without words. “Fine. We don’t have to. But I really want you to stay - we don’t even have to film or anything.” 

Letting out a small breath, Ethan reached up to place his hands on top of Mark’s. The gesture caught him off-guard, making him flush slightly - they didn’t normally show affection like this, and it was messing with his head. He definitely wasn’t going to complain, though, especially if his friend didn’t seem to mind either. “Okay. Let’s - let’s watch a movie.” 

Mark smiled widely, flipping his hands over to squeeze Ethan’s as he pulled him into the living room. The food still left on his plate quickly fled his mind - this movie was _far_ more important than some half-eaten breakfast would ever be, and he was determined to prove it. 

He flopped onto the couch, patting the spot next to him with a wide smile when he saw Ethan hovering awkwardly. “Come on, you’re not scared of little ole me, are you?” 

_Finally_ Ethan smiled back, snorting quietly. He settled on the cushion next to Mark, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around himself. “You wish, grandpa.” 

“First I’m your partner, then I’m your grandpa. I don’t think I like this dynamic very much.” 

The younger giggled, slapping Mark playfully. “Shut up you big oaf!”

Scooting closer, Mark wrapped a loose arm around Ethan. He decidedly didn’t mention how cold he felt, or how the bones in his shoulder jutted out against his hand. “You know you love me.” 

“Yeah.” Ethan said, leaning back onto the warm arm. All hints of playfulness left his voice, and Mark struggled to ignore the way the small admission lit his insides on fire. 

It was just platonic. It was just platonic.

“So, what movie do you want to watch?” He clicked on the Spider-Man section absent-mindedly, scrolling through the options. One made him stop and let out a short bark of laughter, and he turned towards his friend incredulously. “We got Cars?”

“Ah, my favorite Spider-Man movie,” he laughed, “I love when Peter Parker becomes a fuckin’ Toyota.”

“Are you kidding? He’s _totally_ a Volkswagen. He’s got that ‘quirky college student’ schtick down pat.” 

“Schtick? What, you think he’s secretly some suave businessman trying to scam - who, the five other people he knows?” 

“The fangirls, dude! Quirky college kid is his _brand_ , but we all know he’s not really like that. He probably gets mad game from it, and _that’s_ why he keeps it up.” 

Ethan laughed again, turning to look at Mark. His face was red from barely-suppressed laughter, and the light shining in from the window framed his face in a soft golden halo. 

No one else would give the sight a second thought, but Mark didn’t care about that. He was too busy committing the moment to memory, savoring the way the breath left his lungs at the twinkle in Ethan’s eye. 

“Sure, dude. Peter Parker gets ‘mad game’ from acting quirky. Now just play the movie already!” He snapped back to reality at the demand and quickly looked back at the TV. 

These feelings were really getting out of control.

“You’re just mad because I’m right.” 

“And you’re mad because you know you’re wrong. Now play Cars or so help me -” Mark laughed at the fake-anger on Ethan’s face and pressed play, leaning back on the couch to get comfortable. 

“Fine, fine, we’ll watch your stupid movie. But I expect you to tell me I’m right when we’re done!” 

Ethan smiled wider, turning back towards the TV as well. “Never, papa.” 

Seeing him smile after so long was _addicting_ , and right then and there Mark made a promise to himself to do anything it took to keep him smiling. He was going to help him get better, in any way he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so !! a more comprehensive mark pov i guess? i wanted to try and show how he felt about everything that's happening. i didn't get to touch on all of the stuff i wanted to, though, so there will for sure be more chapters with his pov in the future !! 
> 
> also, i got a little carried away and added some Mark pining, but i promise i'm keeping romance a subplot. i don't think i'll add too much more of it anytime soon, anyway - i want the story's main focus to be on Eef's ED
> 
> as always, the views expressed by the characters are Not my own, and they will change and handle things better as the story progresses kslfhgk
> 
> i hope y'all are having a Lovely day and thank you so much for reading this!!


	8. Chips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: lots of mentions of vomit and mentions of eating garbage

Ethan leaned back against the sofa, chuckling at something one of the cars on-screen said. He didn’t quite catch the punchline, but Mark was laughing so he figured it was funny enough. 

In truth, he was distracted thinking about breakfast. Yeah, he threw away the food in a rather… rude manner, but Mark had hit a nerve, reminding him of just how hungry he was. If he had kept talking about it any longer, Ethan was sure he would have scarfed down the plate at record-speed. Plus, the tone the older used made him feel ridiculous for even attempting to restrict himself, and that was certainly a slippery slope. Disposing of it was necessary.

But… he still wanted the breakfast. It was in the garbage and absolutely disgusting, but that didn’t stop his mouth from watering at the thought of what could have been. Ethan felt like he needed to eat something, and the plateful he had tossed was all he could think about. Only a few bites had made their way into his body, and even though he felt nauseous thinking about it, the meager portion he had did nothing to curb the intense hunger he felt nearly 24/7. Just imagining the rest made his stomach burn painfully. Like it was reminding him that it did, unfortunately, need food if he still wanted to be a functioning person. And judging by the way he had wobbled standing and how hard Mark had gripped him, he was inclined to agree. At least for a day. 

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to eat, he knew he couldn’t very well just _ask_ Mark for a snack after dumping the breakfast he had spent time making - which was delicious, by the way - in the trash! That would be insulting, and probably pretty frustrating too. Ethan knew that from experience.

So… he couldn’t ask for something new, but he couldn’t just dig in Mark’s garbage, either. That was… indescribably gross. If Mark saw him dig up the breakfast just to shove it in his face like an animal - well, he could say goodbye to their friendship and his reputation. Honestly, the man might just lock him up in a mental hospital and be done with it! _Not that he’d be wrong for doing so,_ the brunette mused. 

Shaking his head, Ethan chewed on his lip to hide a manic giggle. He couldn’t _believe_ he’d even considered garbage-cuisine - even if it would be a fun restaurant name.

”Coming to you hot and fresh: New! Reheated leftovers with a drizzle of mystery sauce and a side of suspiciously smelling napkin! Or perhaps you’d like the aged mystery goo presented on an apple core in a bacon wrapper?” 

Fuck, he really was losing his mind. 

Mental breakdown aside, he was hungry and wanted to take advantage of the rare urge to eat. It had been, fuck, almost a day since he had snatched the last bag of chips in his pantry, and while he was proud of his control he couldn’t last much longer. 

Funny how the one time he was willing to cheat there was no food in sight.

Ethan halfheartedly watched the brightly colored talking cars on-screen while trying to make up his mind on whether to stick it out or suck it up and ask for something. Both options were equally unpleasant, and he wasn’t looking forward to making his decision.

Fortunately for him, his stomach decided it had done enough waiting and growled _loudly_ , getting Mark’s attention even over the loud noises coming from the TV. Red tinged his cheeks and ears as his friend slowly looked over at him, raising an eyebrow in the general direction of his stomach. _Shit._

“You - uh, you hungry?” Mark asked, shifting slightly towards him. Ethan wanted to die. 

He smiled tightly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He _was_ hungry - almost comically so - but he wasn’t going to let Mark in on that. “A little, but it’s fine.” 

Mark stood up and grimaced as his joints popped. “No, let me get you something. Since my breakfast was bad and all.” 

_Ouch._ He swallowed nervously and ran his fingers along the threads in his jeans. So, Mark was mad about the breakfast, or at _least_ annoyed. Not great for him. Embarrassed, Ethan watched as he walked into the kitchen, and called out after him. “No, not at all! I’m not lying - it was really fucking good, dude. I’m sorry for dumping it.” 

Even though he couldn’t see the man, Ethan could practically feel the eye-roll that followed his words. “I know.” 

A loud crash came from the pantry, and before he could get up to investigate Mark walked out with an armful of chips. “I didn’t know what you were in the mood for, so I grabbed everything. Figured we could use some snacks for Spider-Man’s cousin.” 

Stunned, Ethan could only giggle helplessly at his friend as he dropped the bags on the coffee table and fell back onto the couch. “No, no it’s - it’s fine dude.“ He said breathlessly once he had composed himself. Hesitantly, he reached out, grabbing the bag closest to him.

After practically inhaling the cheesy goodness inside, he shifted on the couch, turning slightly closer to Mark. “Thanks, by the way,” he murmured. His hand came to rest on the older man’s shoulder - just barely making contact with the fabric of his shirt - and he smiled gratefully, hoping it said everything he didn’t have the words to. 

“Yeah, no problem. And don’t worry about the breakfast - I get it, I’m not actually mad. Just teasing.” 

_Oh._

Ethan’s smile turned tight, and he shot back to his side of the couch. “No, yeah I - I knew that. I definitely knew that.” 

Cocking an eyebrow and giving him a smug smile, Mark turned back to the now-ending movie. “Sure you did.” Ethan rolled his eyes at the tone, but let a smile slip onto his face anyway. “But you know… If you’re really that torn up about it you could stay and watch a few more movies - maybe help me finish off these chips.” ...And the smile was gone. 

He bit his lip, and curved his hand around his wrist. There was still enough skin to pinch. “Mark, I don’t know -”

The older man just shook his head, cutting him off. “Come on, you owe me. I spent _ages_ on that!” 

Well. He _did_ owe him… 

Almost too eagerly, he reached for another bag of chips, tearing it open. God, he was _so_ hungry - Mark was right, he _needed_ to eat this. He owed him! Plus, it didn’t hurt that they tasted amazing. 

Only a few moments later and they were gone, too, discarded to the side just like the bag of chips before it. Seeing the two empty bags made him hesitate in grabbing for a third, but Mark’s quiet “go on” pushed any doubts from his mind. 

Fuck, he was shoving food into his face like a starving animal. 

Then again, the near-constant gnawing pain in his stomach was slowly subsiding, so he didn’t really care. 

Hours flew by that way. Ethan slowed down, but never stopped completely, ignoring the way the pile of empty chip bags grew. Mark didn’t say anything, only putting on another movie when one finished and grabbing a chip bag for himself every so often. They both knew that it was more for Ethan’s sake than his, but neither commented on it. 

Finally, Mark grabbed the last bag of chips, finishing it along with the movie they were watching. “Alright, you ready to film now?” 

Feeling better than he had in weeks, Ethan nodded, bouncing up from his seat. He hadn’t had energy like this in a _while_ , and it felt great to finally be up and moving again. “Hell yeah, dude! I feel _amazing_.”

Mark just chuckled fondly and scooped up a couple of chip bags. “I’m glad. Told you eating would be good. Now help me clean this up.” 

Oh, right. He had eaten. And judging by the pile of trash on his side… he had eaten a lot. Way too much to be humanly possible. A disgusting amount of too much. Oh god.

A bout of nausea rose in his stomach, and he subtly leaned onto the couch for support. Forcing a chuckle out, he surveyed the damage again. “Yeah… Eating sure did help.” 

Carefully, he picked up the bags one-by-one, trying to log the calories in each without Mark knowing as he moved over to the trash. Each bag was around 200, and he had…

_Holy fuck._

A shuddering breath racked his body as he watched all the bags fall into the trash, and the nauseous feeling in his gut doubled. He had _royally_ fucked up.

Panicking, he grabbed at his wrist again. It felt bigger in his hand than it had before - like all the chips he had gobbled down had already become squishy fat sticking to his body. Ethan hardly even noticed his breathing pick up as he glanced over other parts of his body, checking them all for the fat that he was so sure was there.

Logically, he knew that was impossible. But ever since he had started this diet he had stopped thinking logically, hadn't he? 

He laughed quietly to himself at the sentiment. Mark was right - this wasn’t a diet, and it never was. He was _sick_. And judging by the way his stomach roiled, it wasn’t just mentally. 

The trash can made a loud bang when Ethan finally moved his foot away from the pedal. He flinched slightly, but kept moving to the bathroom. He needed to get there _now_ , or he was going to spray vomit all over the walls. In his haste, he ignored the weird look Mark gave him as he passed. 

“Woah, where are you going in such a hurry?” The sudden voice made him stop, and he grimaced as he turned around. 

“Bathroom.” He said quickly, turning back around. Didn’t Mark understand that he didn’t have time for teasing or setting up cameras at the moment?

His friend passed a critical eye over him, frowning slightly. “After eating? I’m coming with.” 

A flash of irritation shot through the younger, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t move forward, either, but neutral steps were better than going backwards. “What? Why?”

The response was soft, careful. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Finally he turned around and rolled his eyes. “I’m not a child, you can’t just -”

“I heard you. The last time you had lunch here.” 

_Oh._

Ethan’s eyes widened, and his retort died on his tongue. Mark had heard him? Heard the dry heaving and gagging and spitting fruitlessly into the toilet? And he didn’t say anything about it? Fuck. 

He stared at the older harshly, begging him to go sit back down. He wasn’t planning on doing that ever again - it was disgusting and painful - but if the contents of his stomach didn’t come up naturally… Besides, he didn’t want his friend to watch him upchuck like some drunk sorority girl. He was 23 for pete’s sake - he should’ve known his limits!

Unfortunately for him, his stomach gurgled painfully and he knew he didn’t have time for a decision. “Fine, just -” Another surge of nausea had him moving forward, speed walking to the bathroom. He could feel Mark behind him, but didn’t say anything in favor of getting to the toilet. 

He slid onto the floor, reminding him of the last time he had tried to do this. The cold tile pressed painfully into his knees and ankles as he hunched over the bowl, but he didn’t have time to move them before his torso spasmed. 

Mark moved behind him, laying a gentle hand on his back. “Shh, it’s okay.” He murmured. Ethan was secretly grateful he was there - it helped distract him from the painful dry heaving. “You’re okay. After this we’ll get you some water, maybe watch another movie. We don’t even have to film today.” 

“No,” he groaned, gagging as another wave of nausea passed. His eyes were already clouded with tears. “No, we have to film.” 

A gentle tsk sounded from behind him, but the older man made no other comment. He just continued to rub his hand in circle’s up and down Ethan’s back, trying to soothe him. 

Finally, after a few minutes of dry heaving and crying his stomach emptied itself, and he sat back on his heels. “Fuck.” 

“I know, I know. Let’s get you cleaned up and hydrated.” He reached to grab Ethan’s elbow, but the younger just shrugged him off. 

He felt awful. Eating that amount was already piggish, but then he had to go the extra mile and puke it all up in his friend’s toilet! “I’m disgusting. I’m so sorry, Mark -” 

His friend scooted over so that they could make eye contact, and gently took his hand. “You’re not disgusting. You just ate too much and barfed it. Happens to all of us.” He just shook his head again, burying it in Mark’s shoulder. 

Trying to suppress the sob that came up was futile, and he was sure the older felt the way his breathing shuddered anyway. “I _did_ eat a lot. I ate too much and my body knows that and I’m so disgusting even my body knows!” A firm hand curled around his lower back, pulling him closer.

“Hey.” The serious tone in his voice made Ethan still, any other gross confessions stuck in his throat. “You didn’t eat a lot.” Before he could argue, Mark cut him off with a small shushing noise. “You ate too much for your body, yes. But think about it. I’m assuming you haven’t eaten more than one meal a day - if that - for at least a month. Your body isn’t used to how people regularly eat. Of course it’s going to be too much when you eat several bags of chips. But eating that much is normal for most people. Hell, have you seen the jumbo bags of popcorn at the movies? And that’s for one movie! We watched, like, four.” 

Ethan gave a watery giggle, nodding along with Mark’s point. The jumbo bags of popcorn _were_ big. But he couldn’t help wanting to reject his reasoning. He had eaten a lot - far, far too much - and he was starting to feel grateful for the burning in his throat. “I still threw up…”

The hand on his back moved away, finding its way into his hand instead. “Which means we still need to get you hydrated. C’mon.” Mark stood carefully, tugging Ethan up after him. Instead of fighting, the younger gratefully followed, craving water or ice. His stomach was much less uncomfortable than before, but he still felt a little queasy as he stood, and secretly hoped he could sit down soon. 

Almost like he had read his mind, Mark sat Ethan down at the bar as they entered the kitchen. He moved to fill up a glass from their new Brita filter, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s not the piss one, right?” 

Mark laughed as he walked over, passing him the glass. He smiled softly at Ethan, cocking his head in a teasing manner. “No, it is. You’re getting piss-water for making my bathroom smell like shit.” 

“Aw nuts!” They both burst out laughing then. Mark threw his head back, only making Ethan laugh harder at the awkward angle. “I - I can see - right up your nose!” He panted, stopping between words to laugh. The older man only laughed harder at this, and doubled over onto the counter next to him. 

“You should be proud to see my nose! It’s the world’s best nose!” 

“It’s so fucking gross dude! I can see things moving around in there!” 

“That’s the best part!” Ethan laughed harder then, picking his head up from the counter to look at Mark. Another wave of gratefulness washed over him, and his laughing died down slowly.

Watching his friend laugh sobered him, and he smiled softly at the way his face scrunched up in joy. He couldn’t believe that Mark had helped him even though he had been an ass, and wasn’t disgusted by him bingeing or even puking afterwards. It would have been much easier for the older man to just leave him to deal with it by himself, or cut off their friendship altogether after picking him up at one in the morning, but he didn’t. Ethan was lucky to have him, and even though he was scared that his friend would leave at the drop of a hat, he was insanely appreciative that he had stayed this long. 

“Mark?” The older man hummed in acknowledgment, his laughs dying down into a soft smile. “Thanks. I love you.” 

His smile turned softer somehow, and he took Ethan’s hand in his. “Don't mention it. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eds are a lot grosser than most people give them credit for :(


	9. Applesauce

Ethan groaned, rolling over in his bed. His hands knocked into the headboard as he arched his back, but he didn’t mind. Why would he when he could just get back under the covers and sleep for a little longer? 

Unfortunately, the beeping of his alarm disagreed, and he found himself reluctantly sitting up to turn it off. Right. He had to film today. 

Because of his little… incident the day before, he and Mark had to reschedule filming immediately. They really couldn’t afford to put it off anymore, and knowing that had Ethan hauling his tired ass up and to the bathroom to get ready. 

Carefully avoiding the mirror, he finished up his morning routine and walked over to the pile of laundry on his chair. With everything going on, he hadn’t had the time or energy to put it away. Now it just sat sad and forgotten in the corner of his room, clean but crumpled and wrinkled. It would just have to do for now - he didn’t have time to run a new load. 

Digging through the fabric, he tried searching for a shirt he knew would make him look good. They were posting these videos for millions to view, after all. Looking fat on camera was _not_ an option, especially after his binge. 

A bright pink stood out, and he gingerly picked it up. It was soft, and definitely one of his more comfortable shirts… But it was too bright. Lighter colors never looked good on him. Tossing it aside, he dug around until he found a black shirt. The color was fine, but it normally clung too tight to him, showing off everything he hated and just proving even more that he wasn’t at his goal. It was one of his favorite shirts, though - maybe he had lost enough to make it fit? 

Checking the clock, Ethan decided that it couldn’t hurt to try a few things on. It’s not like he needed to be at Mark’s for another hour anyway. Averting his eyes from the mirror, he stripped off his pajama top and threw the black one on. Time to put it to the test. 

He took a deep breath before turning towards the mirror. At first glance, it wasn’t… bad. It hung like a normal shirt. But the longer he kept looking, the more imperfections he found. His stomach stuck out awkwardly, and the way the sleeves fit made his shoulders look larger than they were. Did his chest always look that wide? 

Taking a deep breath, Ethan turned away from the mirror. He couldn’t wear this shirt - there was _no way_ he was going to go out looking like that, putting everything wrong with him on display. 

Thirty minutes passed that way - with him scrutinizing each shirt until he had nothing left to wear. Frustrated tears slipped down his cheeks, and he let out a quiet scream. Did he really look so ugly that _nothing_ could hide it? 

Sniffling, he trudged over to his bed, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms. This was his life now - staying under the covers so that no one could see what he looked like. He was just going to hermit here forever, never seeing the light of day again - 

His phone rang, and the vibrations right next to his ear shocked him into movement. In his haste to pick it up from the pillow, he accidentally clicked the green _answer call_ button, and Mark’s face suddenly came into view. 

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know you need to bring - are you crying?” His eyes zeroed in on Ethan’s, and the younger man squirmed uncomfortably. 

“No,” he lied, “what do I need to bring?” 

Mark bit his lip, but only shook his head before speaking again. “Okay. You need to bring goggles and a swimsuit, we might be doing something in the pool.” _Oh, fuck._

Giggling nervously, he glanced over at the pile of discarded shirts on his floor. The only thing worse than wearing one of those was wearing no shirt at all. How could he possibly swim in next-to-nothing if he was having a crisis over tshirts he wore everyday? “Uh, can we - reschedule that? I don’t think I have any clean pairs.” 

Right as Mark opened his mouth to answer, Amy poked her head into frame. Her cheery smile didn’t seem appropriate for the fear she made bubble up in his chest. “You can wash them at our house, Eth! It’ll be fine!” _Double fuck._

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to bother you. Besides,” he added, looking around his room, “I don’t think I could find a pair.”

This time, Mark cut off Amy before she could speak. Ethan didn’t miss the way they seemed to argue with their eyes, and he briefly wondered how much Mark had told Amy. “Ouch, and you say _I’m_ the messy one.” He chuckled awkwardly at that, secretly grateful that Mark was covering for him. “It’s fine, we can reschedule dude. Just make sure to be over here in twenty, okay?” Nodding, he rolled off his bed and ended the call. 

Shit, what was he going to do? 

He didn’t have enough time to keep trying on clothes, and he certainly wasn’t going to wear any of the wrinkled shirts from before. Maybe… he could just wear a hoodie? It was about a jillion degrees outside, but Mark’s house was usually pretty cold. It would be fine. 

Sighing at his poor attempts to console himself, he slipped on a soft black hoodie and jeans, making his way to his car with Spencer in tow. 

This was going to be a long day.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

Mark greeted him at the door with a small smile, leading him inside to the family room. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about the phone call earlier, or how Ethan was wearing a hoodie in the L.A. heat, and left the younger alone on his way to the kitchen.

“Here, I figured you haven’t eaten today.” Mark handed him a small applesauce pouch as he re-entered the room, setting down the box he was holding in his other hand. “Don’t want you getting light-headed during filming, y’know?” 

“Yeah…” Ethan said slowly, instinctively turning it over to glance at the calorie count. “I don’t really think - hey, did you color over this?” The nutrition facts were blocked out in messy sharpie, and it was old enough that he couldn’t wipe it away with his fingers. This was obviously done a while ago. 

Instead of replying, Mark gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders and moved over to one of the cameras. “Come on, eat up. We can’t start until you’re done, and we’re on a strict schedule.” 

As much as he knew they needed to film, he couldn’t eat. He had eaten far too much yesterday - to the point of _puking._ There wasn’t anyway he could repeat that. Putting on weight wasn’t an option for him, and he could already _see_ the way his body had stretched grotesquely outwards from his binge. 

The design of the package blurred together as he retreated even further in his thoughts, and the mental image of himself in front of the mirror from that morning played on repeat in his mind. He was disgusting. 

Trembling, he placed the applesauce on the table and shook out his hands. “No, I can’t eat this. Let’s just start -”

Mark cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, and annoyance rose in his throat at being cut off. “Nope! You need to eat the whole thing before -” 

“I’m not a fucking child!” Ethan burst. “Don’t patronize me.” This was _exactly_ what he was afraid of. His friend was treating him like he was a naughty kid - just a burden he had to care for. It was awful, and with the day he had so far it kind of made him want to cry. “I’m a grown-ass adult, Mark. You don’t need to block out calories, or give me a _time limit_ for eating. I trusted you with this - trusted you not to treat me any differently.”

“I -” Mark swallowed nervously, and ran a hand through his hair. Seeing it made him feel a little guilty, but he was too stubborn to say anything. The older man had no reason to act like he needed help wiping his own ass. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. You can just put that on the end table.” 

“It’s fine,” Ethan murmured, moving the packet. His wrist peeked out from his sleeve, and the anger he had felt quickly dissipated. Now, he just felt tired. Like the quick flash of irrational anger had siphoned all of his energy into the mini spat.

He felt tired a lot these days. 

Amy stepped out of their bedroom then, and the pitying gaze she gave him made whatever was left inside him shrivel up and die. “Are you two ready?” she asked, though it seemed more out of politeness than anything as she stepped behind the camera. Mark nodded before he could say anything, and Ethan felt himself straighten up as the red recording light turned on. Time to put on another performance. 

But just as the older man was about to start the intro, Amy held up her hand to silence him. “There’s applesauce in the shot. Are we keeping that, or…?” Oh, shit. That. His ears flushed red at the reminder, and he quickly stumbled up to grab the pouch. He didn’t even notice how he put the black box on the back in full view of the camera.

Scrambling to put the applesauce on the kitchen counter, he choked out a quick “oh, no that’s mine, I’ll move it. Sorry.” Amy made a weird noise and cocked her head to the side like she did when solving a puzzle, but didn’t comment until he sat down again.

“Is there… a reason the nutrition facts were blacked out?” _Triple shit._

“Uh -!” What could he say? Ethan didn’t want to tell Amy, of all people, the lady with the “sexy skinny legs” as Mark’s mom had put it, that he struggled to eat fucking applesauce like a toddler. It was stupid, and gross, and he didn’t want her to judge him for how he stacked on pounds like a pig. 

“I, uh, had a science experiment.” Mark supplied. “You know, one of my _things._ ” He smiled dumbly at Ethan, and the brunette wanted to just about die. Amy wasn’t stupid, and she knew them well. She could probably see through their charade like a hot knife through butter. 

“Right,” she said, slowly, confirming Ethan’s suspicions and making his stomach curdle, “science experiment.” She looked at him again, and he was abruptly reminded of how Mark looked at him after they filmed the Oreo video. 

Fuck, now both Amy _and_ Mark knew. Was he really that obvious? If he was, then the whole world probably knew by now, and was silently mocking him behind his back. Wouldn’t that just be the bright red cherry on his nonexistent cake. 

Amy shrugging snapped him out of his daze, and he watched as she seemingly turned a whole 180. Not even acknowledging the tense moment before, she stepped behind the camera and gave them a thumbs up to start filming the intro. 

Now that they both knew, what was he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy's finally here !! forgive her absence for most of the story - i wasn't quite sure how to write her character. 
> 
> anyway, i hope y'all have a lovely day <3


	10. Cookies

Ethan snatched a bag of chips from the pantry, tearing it open on his way to Mark’s living room. He slowed down briefly to shove a handful in his mouth, not even tasting them before he swallowed and carried on. 

He was fucking _starving_ \- his “diet” could wait another day. 

Mark glanced up at him as he entered, his eyes briefly flickering to the bag, before giving him a small smile. He moved over on the couch, and Ethan took that as his cue to sit. 

“What’re we doin’ today?” he asked through a mouthful of chip-mush. It tasted like cardboard. He wolfed down another handful.

Averting his eyes, Mark shifted in his seat. “Uh, I figured we could do some halloween-themed recipes -” Ethan scrunched his nose in distaste, and Mark quickly backtracked, “we could substitute certain things, though, if you want.” 

Shrugging, Ethan popped another chip in his mouth. Honestly… What did it even matter at this point? He had already pretty much ruined the day by eating chips - continuing to binge couldn’t hurt more than it already did. Plus, he was _hungry_. He’d just… eat less and workout more the next few days. 

“I have Splenda,” Mark continued, “You know, the zero-calorie thing? We could use that.” Ethan decided not to say anything about the _actual_ calorie count, and just nodded along. 

“Yeah, sure. It’d get us in the spooky spirit, and all that.” The older man glanced at him funny, but he just ate another chip. Why was he still eating these? It wasn’t even _enjoyable_. “What were you thinking of?”

Pulling up a tab on his laptop, Mark shifted closer to him. The warmth of the other man felt nice against his cold arm, and he subtly leaned into his side. “I was thinking one of these? They don’t take very long to make, and most of them are more decoration than baking, so it’s easy content.” 

Nodding, Ethan skimmed through the list Mark had made. _Cakepop, bananas, pumpkin cookies, cinnamon cookies, cinnamon cakepop…_ they all seemed fine. He passed the computer back with a small smile, still not moving away. “Yeah, these look good. I kinda want to do the pumpkin cookies.” 

Mark hummed, and Ethan could feel the vibrations in his chest from their proximity. It felt nice. “Those do look good,” he agreed, “I think we have everything for that.” 

Ethan nodded again, though he didn’t really know why. Neither of them moved from their spot, and he swore he felt Mark shift imperceptibly closer. A bright orange ad on the recipe site blinked up at them, almost as if it was reminding them that they needed to be doing something, and Ethan just leaned back into Mark’s chest in response. Take that, ad. 

After a minute, Mark finally moved back, sucking in a sharp breath. “Alright, we should, uh, probably get started.” 

“Yeah…” he cleared his throat, moving away as well. He missed the warmth already. “I’ll go get the cameras out.” 

A few hours later and they were finally done filming. Flour and other baking ingredients were _everywhere_ , and Ethan wasn’t sure if he would be able salvage the shirt he was wearing. 

He took another bite out of the cinnamon cookie he was holding, ignoring the pain in his stomach. The cookies didn’t even taste good anymore - eating so many had made them repetitive, and the excess sugar just made his mouth burn. Honestly, he just kind of wanted to die. 

And, woah, where did _that_ come from? The thought shocked him a little, and he braced his arms against the counter to steady himself. Why was he being all… suicidal now? He hadn’t genuinely meant it, but even something like that was out of character for him. 

Mark must have noticed the change, and handed him a cold water bottle. “Are you doing okay? Feeling sick?” 

Ethan shook his head, and opened the bottle to take a large gulp. If the older man didn’t believe him, he didn’t say anything, and instead chose to go back to cleaning up the kitchen. By himself.

God, Mark was doing all of this for him - the food, the water bottle, the comfort - and he couldn’t even help the man clean his kitchen. 

Letting out a long sigh, he walked over to the paper towels, kneeling down on shaky legs to wipe up the egg goop from the floor. 

They cleaned up the kitchen together, over the next thirty minutes or so. Walking around each other seamlessly and working in tandem. It was almost peaceful. 

And then Ethan leaned against the counter to keep from falling over as he stood up - which really wasn’t that strange to him, considering how it was just part of life for him now - and Mark gave him a look that Ethan knew meant “we are going to have a long and sappy talk about this.” 

Already exhausted and a little cranky, he rolled his eyes and trudged over to the couch, watching as his friend plopped down beside him. 

“So…” he started, eloquently, “why’re we on the ‘spill your heart out’ couch?” 

“I think you know why, Eth.” Mark said, with all of the stunning tact that a school counselor had when they heard you were being bullied. Ethan just huffed, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“What, I wobble a little standing up and now we have to call the coastguard?” Fuck, why did he sound so _defensive?_

...Maybe he was.

Mark ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up slightly from the leftover egg and flour. “No, I just mean that you haven’t eaten enough if you can’t even stand, and -”

“Dude, I’m serious. I ate those chips, and at least two of everything we made today - I’m _good._ Better than good, even, this is the most I’ve eaten since… well, you know.” _Since I puked in your toilet and got vomit and tears all over your shirt_ goes unsaid. 

“That’s not -” he cuts himself off, and looks up at the ceiling. “That’s not what I’m worried about. You just… got really zoned out after filming, and I want to know if you’re _okay_.” 

Ethan looked away, too, then, focusing on Chica sleeping in her dog bed. He didn’t even know where to _start_ with that. 

Because - he should be okay, right? He ate a ton, but didn’t feel as guilty about it as he should. That was. Progress. It had to be.

But then again, he wasn’t eating like _normal_. Everything tasted like ash going down, and he only kept eating because it kept his mouth occupied and his head quiet. His stomach hurt from overeating, and he had certainly had far too many cookies to be healthy. There wasn’t anything good about that. 

Realizing he had been silent for a while, he quickly answered - jerkily shrugging his shoulders and shifting even further from his friend. 

“I…” He closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. A loose string in his jeans caught his eye, and he started picking at it. “You said there weren’t any calories in Splenda, earlier.” Mark tilted his head to the side, and Ethan wanted to smile. He looked like a puppy. “There are. It’s not as bad as sugar, but. Uh, there are three calories in a packet.” 

Leaning back against the couch, he suppressed the urge to curl into Mark’s side. That would be _weird_. “And I hate that I know that, you know? I hate that I’m always thinking about this.” The ceiling blurred, and he blinked rapidly. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder. And, really, what else was he _supposed_ to say? Sniffing once, Ethan looked back at him, giving him a watery smile. 

“Not like it’s your fault.” 

The older man squeezed his shoulder and frowned. “I could’ve helped, though.” 

“No, you couldn’t have. I know you care, but this is my shit. You can’t - you can’t change me.” He took a deep breath, and leaned against his friend. “I don’t like it when you do that. Try and pin my problem on you. I think you believe you have more power over me than you do.” This was coming off more harsh than he wanted, and he turned his face towards Mark to give him a small smile. “I appreciate it - you caring. But I’m not a problem you can fix, Mark.” 

“I know,” Mark sighed. He wrapped an arm around Ethan, and the younger couldn’t help but appreciate it. He knew Mark wasn’t the touchy-feely type. “I’m sorry. I’m just - worried. I want to help and I don’t know how.” 

Ethan hummed, glancing over at Chica again. “I know,” he mumbled. “Thank you.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, before Mark spoke again. “Those cookies were good. Even if we got shit everywhere.” 

He let out a small chuckle, throwing his head back against Mark’s shoulder. He felt the older man’s breath hitch, and instantly felt bad about (probably) hurting him. “Sorry. But yeah, they were nice. Even with Splenda.” 

Mark laughed with him, though it sounded stilted and off. Deciding to ignore that, Ethan leaned forward and reached for the remote. “C’mon, let’s watch something.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on the TV, clicking onto Netflix. “Wow, I didn’t know this was a Netflix and Chill kinda night, Eth. At least buy me dinner first!” Mark chuckled next to his ear.

“Did those misshapen bat-nanas mean nothing to you, then?” 

“Maybe if you actually spent time on them rather than mashing it to a pulp on my counter.” 

“Hey!” Ethan gently smacked Mark’s chest, eyes crinkling in amusement. It was nice, hanging out with Mark. The man could make him go from being cranky and irritable to happy in a heartbeat. 

Mark took the remote from him, selecting a random movie from his recommendations. A light, tinkling opening tune played, and Ethan settled in against Mark’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. 

He was glad they were friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've rewritten this chapter,,, at Least six times,,, and i'm Still Not Happy With It 
> 
> anyway if you got this far ily and tysm for reading <3


	11. Pancakes

One of the first things Ethan noticed at the start was how clear his head seemed. It made sense - plenty of people fasted for personal growth or health reasons, and at that point he was doing the same thing, if for different reasons. 

But then he pretty much stopped eating altogether, and his head grew so thick and cloudy he couldn’t tell if he was even alive most mornings. 

Now that he was skipping meals again, the strange clarity came back, familiar and yet completely new at the same time. It was risky, bordering on being numb enough to ignore hunger pains yet not numb enough to slip up, but he knew what to look for now. The hunger was just a _little_ addicting, but Ethan was determined to not let it get in the way of his life again. 

Wobbling a little on his way to the kitchen, he unlocked his phone, absentmindedly tapping on the notification for a new message. The coffee maker hummed behind him, and he grabbed the hot cup. It felt nice against his cold fingers. _About a cup, so that’s… one calorie?_ he mused, looking back at his phone. He’d have to log that as soon as he checked the message. 

_Amy: hey eef! want to hang out today?_ | sent 9:01

He blinked, then checked the contact name again. Amy’s name still hovered under the message, and at the top of the chat, and Ethan carefully set his phone down on the counter. 

Was this about the last time she had helped them film? With the applesauce and the questions and the _looks?_ The longer he stared at the message, the more he realized that it probably was. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, he swapped the phone with his mug, and typed out a reply. 

_You: sure!_ | sent 9:23  
_You: what do you want to do?_ | sent 9:23

Three gray dots popped up, and Ethan pursed his lips. Even though he responded, he wasn’t sure he was ready for her reply - what if she tried to get him to eat? He already accepted, it wasn’t like he could back out without her giving him that _awful_ pity-glance and “subtle” nudge towards food. 

But after the last few weeks - at first eating for Mark’s sake, and then just to feel _something_ other than numb - he had gained. And that was - not good. He couldn’t keep adding to that. 

His phone chimed, and he snapped back to reality to look at the now-black screen. Taking a sip of his (bitter, gross) coffee, Ethan let himself stall for a minute longer. He _really_ didn’t want to deal with having to get out of eating today. 

The phone chimed again and he cursed under his breath. He had to pick it up now. Unlocking it lazily, he opened the chat with Amy. 

_Amy: great! i’ve got some clay here that has your name on it_ | sent 9:26  
_Amy: this totally isn’t because mark’s out of the house and i want an assistant btw _| sent 9:26__

Oh. So it wasn’t about food at all. Why did he think it was about food? His shoulders dropped and he sent out a quick reply.

___You: you can’t use me as free labor forever, amy_ | sent 9:28  
_You: but sure! i’ll drop by around 10:30?_ | sent 9:29_ _

__Amy sent back a quick thumbs-up, and Ethan dropped his phone on the counter again. He _really_ hoped his initial suspicions were wrong and she wouldn’t guilt him into eating. _ _

__Pushing away from the counter, he shuffled back towards his room, running a hand along the wall for support, and got ready._ _

__

__“Ethan! Hi!” Amy’s bright voice greeted him as he walked into the kitchen. It faltered a little when she finally saw him, but she quickly recovered. “Mark made pancakes.” He smiled at her, humming a little bit when he saw the plate._ _

__The soft, golden-yellow pancakes were piled high, looking almost good enough to be in some sort of commercial or something. Mark’s monologue about cooking the perfect pancake came to mind, and he chuckled to himself. “They look good.”_ _

__“I bet they are,” Amy hummed. She grabbed three plates out of their cupboard, already starting to put pancakes on them. “Mark’s… somewhere? right now. He should be back soon so we can eat together. How many do you want?”_ _

__Ethan paused at the question, then looked back over at the plates. Oh, yeah, there were three. One for Mark, Amy, and _him_. Shaking his head to clear the fog, he shrugged. “I’m not really hungry right now, sorry. Maybe later?” _ _

__She stopped dishing the pancakes then and looked over at him. “Are you sure? I thought you liked his pancakes?”_ _

__Fuck. He did really like Mark’s pancakes, and they both knew it. “Uh, yeah. I’m just - not very hungry right now.” Amy stared at him for a moment longer, and he rubbed his hand down his arm self-consciously. He tried not to focus on how squishy it was beneath his fingers. “Drank a lot of coffee this morning.”_ _

__Nodding slowly, she turned back to the pancakes and put the third plate back in the cupboard. “Okay, that’s cool. I’ll save you some for later.” Her tone brooked no argument, and Ethan shrugged shamefully. He could just throw them out later, even though the thought of wasting the pancakes made his stomach turn._ _

__Mark walked in as Amy set the plates on the table, and he gave Ethan a small smile as he walked past. “Morning!”_ _

__“Morning.” Ethan fell into the chair across from the couple, watching as they dug into their pancakes. Not wanting to sit in awkward silence, he leaned forward and began to make small talk. “So where are you going today, Mark?”_ _

__The older man’s head jerked up toward him, and he glanced not-so-subtly at Amy. “I’m replacing you as Amy’s assistant today,” Ethan clarified, “I didn’t just walk into your house uninvited to watch you eat breakfast.”_ _

__“Oh, yeah, that - that makes sense.” Mark swallowed, and pushed his fork around his plate. “I’m... going to check out something. Maybe an Unus Annus idea if it goes well.” There was something off about his tone, but Ethan was too tired to push. The fog in his mind was starting to thicken, and he was using a lot of his energy just to stay present in the conversation._ _

__“Cool beans.”_ _

__Amy’s fork clattered against her plate, and she coughed violently to dislodge the pancake she had inhaled. “ _Cool beans?_ What are you, forty?” A little snort escaped her as she giggled, and Ethan couldn’t help but smile as well. _ _

__“Hey! I’ll have you know ‘cool beans’ is a perfectly acceptable phrase!”_ _

__She shook her head, jabbing the fork at him accusingly. “Yeah, if you’re, like, going through a midlife crisis or something!” He smacked his chest in mock-offense, and her laughing only increased._ _

__“Honestly, I don’t see a problem with ‘cool beans.’” Mark piped up. He swiveled to face Amy, sneering at her playfully. “I think you’re just jealous you couldn’t pull it off.”_ _

__“Okay, Craig. Call me when you regret buying that motorcycle and the tattoo on your upper arm.”_ _

__Laughing, Ethan rested his head on his hand. He was _very_ grateful the whole commotion had distracted from his lack of a plate. And… having fun with his friends wasn’t half-bad, either. _ _

__After a few minutes, they all settled down and Mark took the dirty plates to the sink. “I think I’m going to leave here, soon. Are you sure you two can handle being home alone?”_ _

__“If anything we’re the most level-headed of the three of us,” Ethan shot back, “I’m sure we'll be fine.”_ _

__Chuckling, the older man nodded. “Alright, that’s fair. See you… sometime? I’m not sure if I’ll be back by the time you leave.”_ _

__“Yeah, see you whenever.” He smiled, watching as Mark trudged up the stairs. “So, how can I help?”_ _

__Amy stood up from the table, walking towards her workshop. The room seemed different, now that the one person who actually knew what she was doing was in it. Everything seemed to have a purpose - unlike the indiscernible mess it seemed to be when they first tried to make something. “We need to wedge the clay first, then I was thinking we could make little pumpkins.”_ _

__“Wait, we?” Ethan stopped twirling the small knife he had picked up. _Amy_ was supposed to be the one making things - not him. He couldn’t tell one type of knife from another - how was he supposed to make something with her? And aside from that, why would he? She was the expert, he would just mess it up. “I thought I was going to be your _assistant._ ” _ _

__“Well, _yeah_ , but it’s really not that hard! Plus, I find it can be… Almost meditative, in a way. Lets you work out anything you’re keeping bottled up inside.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Ethan felt like there was supposed to be some hidden message there. “And it’s fun.” _ _

__“You had me at ‘fun!’” he joked. Amy set two large globs of clay on the table, and his finger darted out to poke them. “Ew. They’re slimy.”_ _

__She scoffed softly, smiling at him. “Yeah, they’re wet. Go on, grab one.” He picked up the smaller lump, passing it back and forth in his hands. The clay-slime stuck to his fingers, but he didn’t mind all that much. He’d had worse on his hands._ _

__Noticing the lost look on his face, Amy set her clay down on the table and guided him to do the same. “Here,” she murmured, folding her hands over Ethan’s and moving them with hers. “You have to press down on it, and then roll it like _this_ \- ” she said, twisting her arms inwards and rotating it at the elbow instead of the wrist, and he jerked away to avoid getting hit in the gut. He huffed out a laugh at the playful glare she gave him, and moved back into place apologetically. “I’m not gonna hit you, promise.”_ _

__Glancing at her, he nodded, and stayed still as Amy rolled her arm again. Her hand rotated the clay, and her elbow bumped into his side, just like she said it would. “Good!” Amy praised, and began to move her hands again. “Now, we just… wait.” She nudged his side again and frowned. “Are those your _ribs_?”_ _

__“Yeah?” Ethan tried to shift away from her stare, but the hands on top of his only tightened, pinning him in place. He felt trapped again - stuck trying to explain and lie his way out of concern and pity. How did he always end up like this? Was he that obvious? “Everyone has ‘em, Amy.”_ _

__Frowning harder, she just turned back to the clay. “Not everyone’s are that prominent,” she whispered, and Ethan bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. After a minute, she moved away from him, focusing on her own blob and demonstrating the process again. “There, you just repeat all of those steps. Smash, roll, smash until you have a decent spiral.”_ _

__“Okay.” He tried to wedge his own clay, smiling when a shaky spiral appeared. “Like this?”_ _

__“Perfect! Now just keep at it until everything is mixed.”_ _

__The clay squished out from between his fingers and got all over his hands, but he just picked it up and rolled it again. Amy was right - it was sort-of therapeutic. The repetitive motion distracted him enough that he wasn’t bored, but if need be he could still focus on something else._ _

__Some of the clay on the back of his hand started drying, and he absent-mindedly picked it off, watching as the flakes combined with the rest of the wet clump._ _

__Maybe Mark was right, in getting him to eat recently. Both he and Amy had managed to catch on, and they were both concerned - something he _hated_ to think about. He didn’t want to worry them, but… He couldn’t _stop_. _ _

__A lot of it was his weight and appearance. Quarantine and the resulting comments about his body had really fucked with him when he was already unstable, and it was hard to let go of that. He _knew_ he looked different. Everyone had pointed it out - some applauding his weight loss, some, like Amy, getting concerned over the timeframe it occurred in - but _everyone_ noticed, so it wasn’t like he could deny it if he tried. But… maybe it wasn’t as big a difference as he thought. Maybe they were just so tired of looking at him that even losing one pound was celebration-worthy. _ _

__And even if that wasn’t the case, who’s to say that people wouldn’t keep complimenting him if he lost even _more?_ If he wasted away until he looked like he could die at any minute, who’s to say he wouldn’t receive that praise and validation? Others had gotten it - take a look at any white male actor these days. It wouldn’t be hard. He could just keep going, keep restricting until he physically couldn’t even more. _ _

__The clay slipped, and he quickly picked it up again, rolling it into two little balls like Amy had done._ _

__He could restrict until his head felt fuzzy all the time and the hunger pains didn’t even feel real anymore - until _he_ didn’t feel real anymore. Because that’s the other part of why he did this, wasn’t it? To feel floaty and untethered - only connected to the world through the burning spikes of hunger that would pop up every once in a while. The feeling was _addicting_ , and even though he was letting himself succumb to it as he rolled and pressed the clay, it scared him. _ _

__“Ethan?” His head snapped up, and he looked away from his misshapen balls towards Amy. “Are you okay?”_ _

__Was he?_ _

__He looked at his hands, noticing the way they trembled slightly from exertion when they shouldn’t be trembling at all, and then at his wrists that were smaller than _Amy’s_ , and set the clay down. _ _

__“No,” he sniffed, “I think…” The words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat, and he shook his head in frustration. Saying it outloud would mean admitting it to himself, and…_ _

__That’s not something he wanted to do._ _

__“Take your time,” Amy murmured. “I’m here for you.”_ _

__Taking a deep breath, Ethan clenched his fist around the clay, not even caring that it ruined his ball. “I think I have an eating disorder.”_ _

__He winced, waiting for the inevitable “no shit, Sherlock,” but none came. Amy only looked at him sympathetically, reminding him of exactly who he was with._ _

__She was his _friend_ \- she would never make fun of him for something like that. _ _

__“That’s okay,” she said instead, rolling her clay again. “We’re going to help you get through this.”_ _

__Ethan released his death grip on the ball, then, nodding slowly. “Okay… okay. I - I said it.” He reformed the ball, rolling it gently between his hands. He couldn’t believe that he had actually admitted it - after months of avoiding the answer like a plague. He finally let himself tell the truth. “ _Thank you._ ” _ _

__“Of course,” she hummed, “Mark and I care about you, Ethan. A lot.”_ _

__Not having a suitable answer for that, he nodded again and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you. I care about you, too.”_ _

__She smiled at him, and then glanced pointedly down at his lumps of clay. “Then help me get these ready in time to decorate for Thanksgiving, yeah? We still need to shape them, paint them, and fire them.”_ _

__“Yeah, okay.” He rolled faster, moving onto the second lump. “I can do that.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "nothing bad ever happens to the kennedys!!! *relapses*"
> 
> anyWay, hahA he finally admits it !
> 
> i,, honestly can't thank you all enough for your support on this story. reading your comments is the Highlight of my Life, and i still can't get over the fact that you all like it enough to take Time out of your day just to leave a comment, so just. know i Love you
> 
> thank you <33


	12. Celery

The pumpkins were finally finished days later. They sat proudly on Mark and Amy’s TV stand - one practically perfect in every way, and one lopsided and _sharp_ (the tiny little bumps of clay got pokey in the kiln) - but the two assured him they loved them both equally. And, yeah, maybe Ethan did, too, if for different reasons. 

It was stupid, but the misshapen ball was a reminder of how he had finally opened up and truly admitted he had a problem. Being able to look at the TV and be reminded of that day and how much his friends cared - it was nice. 

He had told Mark not long after he spilled his heart out to Amy. The man had come home to find Ethan all snotty-faced and red-eyed as he made a small pumpkin, and obviously had some questions. Surprisingly, it was easier to tell him than he thought it would be - probably because he had already admitted it the first time - and Mark, much like Amy, reacted positively. No mocking him for being a little slow on the uptake, or being too scared to admit it until then.

It was such a huge relief, in fact, that he had been busy for the rest of the day - finally having enough energy to do something _other_ than work mindlessly or curl up under the covers all day. Even his other friends - the ones he hadn’t even told there was a problem yet, let alone what kind of problem - had noticed. 

But it wasn’t like Ethan was intentionally keeping that part of his life from them! He was closer to a few of the people left in the dark than he was to Mark or Amy (though that may be debatable now), but it was just… Harder. To open up to them, too. 

There was something about telling someone who already knew you practically inside and out - some sort of wall or blockade keeping him from telling them the truth, and it frustrated him to no end. These were the people he had cried to countless times over things both bigger and smaller than this, but it still wouldn’t come out. 

He reasoned it away to himself as just being _too_ close for comfort. Ethan didn’t want to lose them, or worry them more than they needed to be worried, and not telling them would be the best course of action. They already had an image of him in their mind - he didn’t need to shatter that. 

And his reasoning would work if he hadn’t told Mark and Amy. 

They weren’t his absolute _best_ friends in the world, of course, but he did love them, and feared losing them or worrying them just the same as he feared for all of his friends - so why did he tell _them_? 

It could have had something to do with seeing them almost every day. Things get hard to hide when you have to be around someone that long, and, really, they figured it out before he would admit it to himself, so… 

But he still didn’t need to admit it. 

He let out a sharp sigh and stood up quickly, deciding that whole… debate was entirely too confusing and frustrating to follow any further. Mark glanced up at him from his laptop, but Ethan just shook his head and made his way to the fridge. 

The blast of cold air felt nice on his skin as he grabbed the filter and poured out a glass of water, and he let himself bask in the quiet moment. He didn’t need to worry about telling everyone just yet - even telling one person was a huge success in his book, and he didn’t want to soil it about stressing over who to tell next. 

Besides, maybe they’d figure it out themselves, too - he couldn’t deny that he had lost a noticeable amount of weight in the past few months, and his friends were starting to point it out more and more. Maybe it’d be better if they came to that conclusion before he had to tell them, anyway. It would save him some of the pain. 

Unfortunately, he was quickly reminded of why he didn’t want to tell _anyone_ at all when Mark glanced at his glass of water. 

“‘S that all you’ve had today?” 

Ethan took a slow sip before answering, looking anywhere but at his friend. “Why?” 

“It’s nearly nine, dude.” 

Ethan just snorted and gave Mark an unimpressed glare. It was from a place of care, yes, but that didn’t stop it from being a little annoying. “Yeah, I can tell the time.”

The older man just sighed and looked back to his laptop, finishing up whatever video he was editing. From the looks of it, it seemed like another Phasmophobia video, and Ethan let out a small laugh.

Was that all they filmed these days? Among Us and Phasmophobia? 

“What?” Mark hummed, looking up at him. His eyes crinkled softly around the edges, and Ethan felt himself smile reflexively. “What’re you laughing at, chuckles?” 

“We should play Phasmophobia and Among Us on Unus Annus. Really tie all three channels together.” 

“What would we even do? Lecture strangers about the inevitability of death as we kill them?” 

“We would get kicked _so_ fast, dude.” Mark’s eyes lit up at that, and Ethan felt a bit of playful worry settle in his stomach. Sometimes his ideas could be… 

Well, pee soda existed now because of him. 

“Hear me out - don’t give me that look, Ethan Nestor-Darling, you haven’t even heard it yet - we try to get voted off as quickly as possible every round. Like, leaving cryptic messages about death and life’s end and all that shit. Or even just spamming ‘cock’ until we get kicked.” 

Ethan just raised an eyebrow and checked the clock again. “How is it that it’s only nine and you’re already incapable of thought?” 

“Hey!” Mark slapped a hand on his chest, trying his hardest to look offended even though the smile ruined it. “I think my idea is great, thank you very much! What’s wrong with it?” 

“That’s my point - what are we even going to do? We can’t make a whole video out of getting voted off.” 

“Uh, yes we can. We’re Unus Annus - we can make a video out of anything.” 

“Quarantine was pretty bad, though.” 

Raising his hands in defeat, Mark agreed. Quarantine _was_ pretty bad. 

“It’s fine,” Ethan said, reaching over to rub Mark’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault that head of yours is too big to function properly.” 

Mark barreling into him took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered, reaching up to push at Mark’s shoulder. “Hey! Cut it out!” 

A hand pushed down on his chest, pinning him in place, and Mark grinned wolfishly down at him. “Not until you admit I had a good idea.” Giggling, Ethan shook his head, trying in vain to push Mark off again. The video idea was _awful_ , and even if it wasn’t he wasn’t going to tell the older man that. 

“Then I guess I have to resort to drastic measures.” He tilted his head in confusion, unsure of what “drastic measures” meant until Mark’s hand ghosted his side and he started thrashing wildly.

“No! No don’t tickle me, _please!_ ” He begged, laughing to the point of wheezing. “I’ll do anything, please!” 

Grinning even wider, Mark just wiggled his fingers in the air - his meaning obvious. _”Admit I was right or I’ll tickle the hell out of you.”_

Unfortunately for him, Ethan just couldn’t give in on this one. 

“Alright, fine.” Mark sighed when Ethan made no move to counteract the tickling. “You asked for it.” He reached for Ethan’s side again, laughing when the younger boy tried to pull away. “Three… two… one!”

He jabbed at Ethan’s side, watching as his friend tried to squirm away. Laughing heavily, he moved up, feeling Ethan’s ribs poking through his hoodie. 

Wait - those were _really_ prominent. 

Mark stopped abruptly, and Ethan looked up at him curiously, laughter trailing off. “Have you finally decided I’m right, or…?” 

“When was the last time you ate?” The other man asked instead. It didn’t surprise Ethan as much as it should’ve - interrupting things to deal with his _problem_ and the things that came with it was a near-hourly occurrence by now. _Especially_ with Mark. So, to say he wasn’t expecting this when the older man pushed him down on the couch would be as much of a lie as admitting that Among Us Unus Annus was a good idea. 

He shrugged, tangling his fingers in Mark’s hoodie strings. Eye contact was too much then, especially with how close they were. “Doesn’t matter. Are _you_ finally going to admit I’m right?” 

“Look at me,” Mark ordered, and Ethan did. Looking at him was always intense - he wasn’t even sure he could handle it if they were talking about something normal - so staring into Mark’s eyes, talking about _this_ , was far too much. “Can you please go eat something? We bought celery.” 

Feeling _something_ at the thought of them buying celery just for him, Ethan tried to dissipate the tension with wildly inappropriate jokes, just like he always did. “Ah, yes, rabbit food. My favorite.”

“It’s low -”

“I know it’s a low-calorie food,” Ethan assured. He smiled, somehow amused by the fact Mark didn’t think he would’ve memorized the exact calorie count in a stick of celery by now, and poked at the older man’s chest. “I’m mentally ill, dude, you think I didn’t know that?” 

His eyes widened, and Mark quickly back-tracked. “No, that’s not - I didn’t -” 

Laughing again, Ethan tugged on the hoodie strings. Mark’s head followed for some reason, and he tried not to think about how close their faces were. “Chill, I’m teasing. Will eating some get you to admit Among Us is a bad idea?”

There was _something_ about the way Mark was looking at him - it was familiar, but Ethan just couldn’t quite place it. All soft and gooey - sappy shit he normally didn’t show around others. “Yes, I’ll admit Among Us was a bad idea if you go eat your rabbit food.” 

“Cool beans.” Ignoring the voice telling him it was a bad idea, Ethan kissed the tip of Mark’s nose, using the momentary shock to roll out from under him and stand up. “Where’d you put it?” 

Instead of any intelligible reply, Mark just stared at him. He couldn’t tell if it was the lighting in the room, or something else, but he seemed to be _blushing_ , and the sight was so wholesome that Ethan internally vowed he’d had to kiss him on the nose more. “Uh - Fridge. In the fridge, behind the onions in the vegetable… thing.” 

“Crisper?” 

“Yes. Crisper. Behind the onions in the vegetable crisper.” 

Nodding, Ethan made his way back into the kitchen for the second time that hour. “Thanks, babe!” 

He didn’t hear what Mark said - if anything - after that, too busy hunting in the fridge for the celery. He wasn’t even particularly hungry, but hearing his friend admit that his idea was bad was all he cared about right now, so he pulled out the vegetable and bit off a chunk. 

“Here, fucker. I ate.” Jabbing the half-bitten celery in Mark’s face, he plopped back down on the couch. “Now, what were you going to say?” 

His friend hung his head in mock-shame. The giggling gave it away, of course, but neither of them really cared. “Fine, I concede. We couldn’t - and shouldn’t - do an Among Us video.” He snuck a glance up at Ethan, and they both burst out in laughter. 

“Thank you! I _told_ you it was a bad idea!” 

“Why you little -” Mark jumped onto him for the second time that evening, knocking him back onto the couch again. Ethan raised his hands up to shield his face, but it turned out to be unnecessary - the older man simply fell onto his chest, forcing out a soft “oof!” 

Resting his hands carefully on his friend’s back, he tried to move away, only leading to Mark wrapping his arms tighter around him. “Wh - you’re not going to kill me? Who are you and what have you done with Mark?” 

He expected some sort of joke - maybe for his friend to playfully toss him off the couch - but not the way his arms wrapped around him even tighter. It was silent for a moment, and Ethan was about to say something until the older man spoke again. “You’re so small,” he murmured, “it’s scary, sometimes.”

And, oh god, they’re approaching some weird emotional territory again for the second time that night - and he really didn’t want to eat more celery, so he deflected. “Sorry? Trust me, I want to be taller, too.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Mark said. He ran a finger down Ethan’s spine, and usually it’d be weird enough to make the younger man get off the couch, but right then it just felt so _normal_ that he relaxed into the touch. 

His hand played with the fabric of Mark’s shirt, and he tried to distract himself from the suddenly-heavy atmosphere with it. “I don’t know what to say to that.” 

Mark sighed, and moved his head to rest on Ethan’s chest, right over his heart. “I know, sorry. Just thinking.” 

Smiling, he just patted his friend’s head, messing up his hair a bit. “Wow, you can think? I didn’t know that.” 

“Was that a Harry Potter reference?” 

“No, but now I wish it was.” Mark just laughed against him, and Ethan decided he liked the feeling of it. “Thanks for the celery,” he muttered a minute later, tangling his fingers in the older man’s hair. “It’s the best of the rabbit-food variety, I think.” 

“Good, I’m glad I made the right choice then. Figured you could get a little fancy with it one day - put some peanut butter and raisins on it - make that ‘ants on a log’ thing.” 

Mark’s hands moved down his back, coming to rest on his waist. The warmth felt nice, and he pushed back against them. “You’ll never guess the Unus Annus idea I just came up with -” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” 

“Sure thing, papa bear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, i think my rambling thought process is Really prominent in this one, boys
> 
> oops?


	13. Fries

“Hey, let’s go in here!” Mark’s friend - something with a K? Ethan couldn’t quite remember - called from ahead of the group, pointing to what looked like a burger joint. “This looks cheap and greasy.” 

He wasn’t sure why he had agreed to come with them. Sure, he got along with strangers well enough, but seeing the way Mark and his friend effortlessly bounced off one another with inside jokes and references just made him feel like a third wheel. Mark had seemed so hopeful in his message, though…

His friend nodded, looking up at the sign before turning to him. “Sure, that sounds good. You okay with that, Eth?” 

K-something looked at him expectantly, and he forced himself to nod and follow them inside.

“Here, you two get a booth and I’ll order. What do you want, Kiara?” Mark asked, gesturing to the register. “My treat.” 

Knowing better than to argue about that, Ethan took out his phone to pull up the restaurant’s menu, clicking onto the nutrition information while Kiara ordered. 

A sinking feeling settled in his gut as he scrolled through the calorie counts, and he let out a shaky exhale. She was right - this place _was_ greasy, and greasy was a no go. Maybe he should just chug the energy drink he brought along? He wouldn’t have it for later, but surely he wouldn’t be as tempted by food as he was right now. 

Snapping out of his thoughts, he looked over to see both of them looking at him, and he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Uh, what?” 

“What do you want?” 

Before he could lie, Kiara pointed out the twenty-something milkshake flavors with excitement, and he realized that most people didn’t just walk into a restaurant to watch their friends eat. “Uh… Give me a second,” he asked, scrolling frantically through the nutrition information to find something quickly. 

Mark paused, glanced at his screen with the menu still pulled up, and then nodded, forehead creasing. “Yeah. Take your time.”

This presented a new problem: nothing on the menu was low enough for him to be satisfied. Everything looked too big, too _much_ , and Ethan kind of wanted to cry. He couldn’t even just order a side - the restaurant didn’t allow it. 

So he decided on the lowest combination he could get away with. “J-just a small vanilla shake and small fry, please.” He knew he sounded whiny, desperate for Mark to _accidentally_ forget, but the man just nodded slowly and stepped into line, leaving him alone with Kiara. 

“You not hungry or something?” She asked, eyes crinkling in amusement as they walked to one of the open booths. Ethan stiffened, but she didn’t seem to notice. Perks of being strangers, he guessed. “Small ‘shake, small fry… ‘S not a lot.” 

“Yeah, I guess not. Just… not hungry.” Before she could respond he sat down, furiously avoiding eye contact and plunging them into a semi-uncomfortable silence. Coming off as rude was so much better than dodging questions. 

Finally, Mark returned, juggling two over-burdened trays in his arms. “Shit - here, take the drinks. They’re gonna fall,” he hissed, and Ethan grabbed for his milkshake and Mark’s soda, setting them down on the table space next to him. Mark being on his side meant fewer people watching him. And… maybe he just wanted to sit next to his friend, too, but that wasn’t the point. 

Kiara didn’t seem to notice, though, and hummed appreciatively, opening her burger at record speed and tossing the wrapper next to her fries and soda. 

Just looking at the food made him nauseous - he knew how many calories were in the burger alone, not even talking about the whole meal. It wasn’t his place to judge, though. 

While he had been oggling her meal, Kiara had been steadily working through her tray. “Ugh, thanks, I’m starved,” she mumbled around a mouthful of burger.

Clearing his throat, Ethan just picked up a fry only to drop it soon after. The grease left a shine on his fingers, and he huffed out a small sigh. It was so gross. There was so much _shit_ in it, and he was going to feel sick after. 

Mark gently put a hand on his knee, and he reluctantly popped a fry into his mouth. They weren’t even _good_. 

The only upside was that he seemed to have less than the other two, and he suppressed the wicked sense of pride he got from that. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he judging what other people ate? Nauseous by his own thoughts, he gently pushed his milkshake away. 

It was only a few minutes later when Kiara finished her (perfectly reasonable amount of) food, and she looked at Ethan’s plate with mock scorn. “What’s takin’ so long, slow poke?” 

Pushing a fry around in his (gross, thick, fatty) milkshake, he just shrugged. “Just trying to psyche myself up, I guess,” he muttered bitterly. It wasn’t even really for Kiara to hear, he was just tired. 

“Psyche yourself up? For eating? What’s so hard about that?” 

The fry fell into the cup, and Ethan watched it sink. 

“You know, I really like these burgers,” Mark cut in then, waving his half-wrapped burger around. It vaguely reminded Ethan of some shitty cliché American movie, and he smiled fondly at the other man. “They’re nice and greasy, but not too soggy. A perfect consistency.” 

“Didn’t know I was dining with a burger connoisseur,” he teased, knocking his knee against his friend’s, “would’ve stepped up my game if you told me.” 

Mark rolled his eyes, and turned to face him fully. “Well that’s on you, isn’t it? You should always be prepared.” Mark’s smile was beautiful, Ethan noticed, and he felt himself lean forward a little, breathing coming more easily now. 

“Aw, Mark, it’s like you don’t know me at all! Hasn’t Unus Annus taught you _anything?_ ” At the reminder, both boys burst out in giggles, bumping their shoulders together. 

“C’mon, eat your soggy ass fries, Eth,” Mark sighed, shaking his head. 

The teasing mood quickly dissipated, and he reluctantly dipped another fry in his milkshake. They were luke-warm at best and _gross_. And Kiara kept staring at him. Why was she staring at him? Was he eating weird? Was she judging him for eating so much when he clearly didn’t need it? 

Ignoring the shaky feeling in his hands, he pushed his food away for the nth time and smiled tightly. “No, you guys are done anyway. Let’s just go -” 

Mark’s eyes flickered over to Kiara, and he clapped a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Dude, I spent eight whole dollars on that, finish up.” They both knew it was just one of his poor attempts at a guilt trip - that he wasn’t _actually_ upset about the money and never would be - but Ethan pulled the milkshake closer to himself again anyway. He probably looked stupid with how often he was moving his tray. 

Trying to ignore how each fry seemed to stick to his throat going down and block his airway, he slowly finished with the help of Mark and Kiara’s aimless chatter. The empty tray made his hands shake a little more, his chest feel a little tighter, but Mark put a hand on the small of his back and guided him out of the restaurant, letting him focus on the warm sunlight instead. 

“Bit hot for fall, isn’t it?” Kiara asked, and he (mostly) forgot about his lunch.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?” Mark tapped Ethan’s shoulder, gesturing to a bench. “We can sit if you want.” 

Kiara had left them an hour ago, and since then he and Mark had just been wandering through various shops, poking at the god-awful clothes the mall had. While going on a wild goose chase for a store named “Erotica” only to find out it was a glasses shop was fun, they hadn’t had much of a break from walking in a while, and Ethan was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

“Uh… No, it’s fine,” he smiled, subtly leaning against the wall. “I’m fine. Let’s keep looking for that one store - the bear one.” 

The older man passed a critical eye over him, and Ethan shrunk a little at the gaze. “You look like you’re going to keel over.” 

“I mean, I don’t think you’re the best judge of that - you think I’m going to keel over all the time.” He was just teasing, but Mark’s face fell.

He muttered something quietly, then shook his head in defeat and looked back up at Ethan. “Alright, as long as we leave after. I’m getting a little tired.”

Electing to ignore the weird tension, Ethan agreed and made his way out of the snooty clothes store they were in, secretly a little glad they were leaving. You’d think for being so expensive they might have better taste. 

The next half-hour was spent much the same - ducking and weaving in and out of various shops, searching in vain for others, and Ethan dodging Mark’s glances when he stumbled or held onto a wall for support. It wasn’t _his_ fault the place they ate at had very little nutritional value. 

Finally, when they were both exhausted, they took Mark’s car home in comfortable silence. 

“Did you have fun?” Mark asked, halfway through the ride. “I know Kiara might’ve been… overwhelming.”

“No, she was fine! I liked her.” Ethan tried to count the trees outside of the window, but lost his place when they began moving again. “She has good taste in restaurants.” 

Mark hummed and turned onto an exit. “And how’re you feeling - with that?” 

Ethan thought about that for a moment, only coming up with various ideas along the lines of _I want you to drop me off here and let me walk home. I want to make a mess of your toilet and shirt again. I want to wallow under my covers._ Knowing that if he voiced any of those thoughts they would both end up upset, he just smiled and turned more towards the window. “Fine! I’m doin’ great.” 

“You want to steal my bike, don’t you.” The words were dry, but Mark's smile let him know the older man was just teasing, and he shrugged off the tension in his shoulders. 

“A little,” he responded, once the shock and surprised laughter had died down, “would you let me?” 

Mark glanced over at him, eyes practically twinkling among the street lights. Thank god - this was just something he wanted to laugh about right now. “No. Not after you almost fainted in my arms like some Victorian maiden outside the McDonald’s. I told you there was a bench!”

“I thought it would be _romantic!_ ” 

Mark threw his head back in laughter, and the car swerved a little. "Freaking me out would be _romantic_ to you?" he squeaked. "What fucked up romance novels have you been reading?" 

"The ones where the girl faints, duh." Ethan slumped down in his seat and rested his feet against the dashboard. At Mark's glare, he stuck his tongue out and kicked against the glovebox, giggling at the defeated sigh his friend let out. "Ha, I win!"

"You always do," Mark whispered. It sounded a little _too_ fond for the moment, but Ethan held his tongue. He didn't want the man to stop, after all. 

Even though the silence was relatively comfortable, Ethan quickly grew bored and kicked against the dashboard again. "So can I use the bike when we get home?" 

Mark side-eyed him, and Ethan didn't miss the way his eyes flickered down to his lips. Feeling cheeky, the younger man just smiled wider, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. The older man ripped his eyes back to the road. "Absolutely not."

"Damn. Fair 'nough." There was a small blush on Mark's cheeks, and Ethan made a mental note to analyze that later. "Worth a try, though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eating in social settings goes brrrr


	14. Sandwiches

Mark sighed, and closed the article he was reading. The artificial light from the computer burned his eyes, and he rubbed at the space between them to alleviate some of the sting. 

Ethan was supposed to be coming over later that day, and he had gotten approximately one hour of sleep; the man was going to notice, and he’d have to come up with some reasonable excuse for staying up so late. 

It wasn’t that he felt _bad_ for what he was doing - he was just worried that _Ethan_ would if he discovered the enormous amount of articles he had scoured on anorexia. The younger man hated feeling pitied, obviously, and Mark felt that this may toe the line of something he’d be okay with. 

The coffee maker beeped in the other room, and he smiled gratefully when Amy handed him a steaming mug a few minutes later. “Whatcha workin’ on?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder, hair falling onto his neck and making him squirm away. 

“Just - looking up stuff for Eth.” Opening up one of the other articles he had been bouncing between, he looked up at her to gauge her reaction. “Trying to… I don’t know. Help?” 

Amy just hummed in lieu of response and skimmed over the article herself. Her eyes darted over the screen, and Mark found himself caught up in the way her face would twitch - just a shadow of emotion splaying across her features - every time she read something apparently interesting. “Does he know?” 

“What?” 

“Does he know you’re doing this,” she repeated, gesturing to the computer. “I - he doesn’t seem to like it, when we butt in.” Her face twisted as though she had something else to say, but ultimately decided against it and smoothed over her features. 

“I know. But - I just want to help, you know? I don’t want to - trigger him.” 

That was something new he learned - the medical definition of trigger, not the stupid joke they’d sometimes make. He’d have to take note to cut those bits out. 

A soft weight settled beside him, and he trailed Amy’s hands as she carefully set her mug next to his. “Can you help?” she asked. 

“Yes.” Amy raised an eyebrow, and he quickly backtracked, “no. Maybe? I - It’s not like he’s going to go to therapy. ‘Least I can do is help as much as I can.” 

“You’re not responsible for him.” Mark made a low noise in his throat, running a hand through his hair in frustration, and Amy sent him a sympathetic, if bittersweet, smile. “I know, I feel it as much as you do. I want to help. But - you’re _not_ a therapist, Mark.” 

Mark just grumbled again and looked back to his computer. He knew Amy was right, logically, but - he _needed_ to fix it. It was painful, sitting there and eating lunch while Ethan looked like he was going to have an aneurysm if his plate had more than a toddler’s portion size. If anything it made him feel like a bad friend, like he had _let_ this happen because he didn’t hound the man on his eating habits earlier. 

And, aside from his own feelings, it was just plain fucking awful to think about even a fraction of what his friend was feeling. Being scared of _food?_ Something that surrounded daily life and was impossible to ignore? Mark couldn’t even imagine what it was like. 

Sighing for the nth time, Mark closed the window, watching as his remaining research disappeared into the void. 

Amy kissed his temple and stood up, ghosting her hand along his shoulder as she did so. “Want to join me in bed?” 

Mark gave one last look at the computer before getting up and following her to their room. 

Ethan greeted the two the next morning, smiling widely on their doorstep despite the cold temperature. “Morning gamers!” 

Amy shook her head, a fond smile spreading across her lips before letting him in. She glanced at Mark oddly, but said nothing as she led their friend into the living room. A little thrown off by both Amy’s glance and Ethan’s unusually chipper attitude that early, Mark hesitated in the doorway for a beat before inevitably trailing after them. 

“What’s on the itinerary for today?” The younger boy made his way to the living room with practiced ease, used to dodging smelly clothes and slobbery toys from the near-constant contact they’d had. “Movie? Game?” 

“Itinerary, nice,” Mark complimented. He glanced over at the remote discarded on the table, and then to Amy. “Your choice, Ames.” 

Shrugging, she flopped on the couch and turned on the TV, scrolling through an assortment of movies at a lightning-speed that Mark couldn’t dream of keeping up with before finally settling on one. He squinted at the screen as it loaded, trying to piece together what they were watching based on the various pixels. 

Finally, the familiar green and red text popped up, and he snorted. 

“What’re we watching?” Ethan questioned, looking back and forth from the screen to Mark’s face. His nose scrunched in confusion, and Mark couldn’t help but smile. 

“Martha May Who…” 

“Oh, fuck off!” 

Amy giggled at their antics and turned the volume up, watching Mark mouth the opening words. Noticing her gaze, Mark only became more theatrical, grabbing their shoulders to parody the teen Whos on screen. “They say he lives up there in a big cave. And only comes down when he’s hungry for the taste of Who flesh!” 

“How many times have you _watched_ this?” Ethan accused. He pointed a playful finger at the older man, adopting the voice of a teacher scolding a child. “This can’t be healthy for anyone involved.” 

“Trust me, it’s not,” Amy groaned, rolling her eyes. “It’s every year, Ethan. Multiple times every year.” 

Mark flopped down on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. He looked between the two, and then solidly at the floor. They didn’t deserve his eye-contact if they were going to slander the Grinch like this. “Hey! Just because you two can’t appreciate a cinematic masterpiece -” 

Amy quickly pressed a kiss to his lips, effectively cutting him off, and sat down on the couch next to him. “Let’s just watch the _cinematic masterpiece,_ yeah?” 

“Whatever,” he grumbled, wrapping an arm around both her and Ethan, and quickly got lost in the movie with his two favorite people by his side.

It was halfway through their movie binge when one of them spoke up again, disturbing the comfortable silence they had built up. 

“Geez, it’s one already… We should probably eat soon.” Surprisingly, it was Ethan who spoke, and Mark tried not to let the confusion he felt seep outward as he turned towards his friend. 

“Yeah, guess so.” He glanced towards Amy and laughed when he saw she was asleep. Staying up too late would do that to you, unfortunately, and he winced knowing he was partly the cause of that. “Want to help me make lunch?” 

Ethan craned his head around to see what Mark was laughing at, and chuckled softly to himself when he realized their other friend was passed out. “Sure, dude. We’d probably end up with cheese and deli meat otherwise.” 

“Hey! It’s not just ‘pick on Mark’ day, you know!” 

“Are you sure? I had it marked in my calendar this morning…” 

“I think I’d know if it was pick on Mark day -” 

“I don’t know, you _do_ forget a lot -” Ethan was cut off when Mark slung the package of salami at him, knocking him square in the chest with a small _oof_ noise. “Foul play!” 

Mark just smiled, batting his eyes innocently and turning away from the younger man again. He needed to get out the cheese - because, fuck Ethan, what sandwich is good without _cheese?_ \- and all of the other condiments he knew Amy loved to slather over her food, and how could he forget the fucking _pickles_ \- 

Ethan must have knocked something over, because the next thing Mark heard was a dull thump and soft curse, and he immediately dropped the items unceremoniously on the counter to investigate. 

“It’s fine!” Ethan assures once he realized that Mark had noticed. Knowing better than to believe him, Mark scanned over the surrounding area, looking for any spilled food or dropped utensils. Coming up empty, he moved onto Ethan himself, pausing when he saw the (probably painful) way he was resting on his arm, elbow hyper-locked and digging into his ribcage in an effort to provide support while remaining subtle. 

The attempt was ass, and Mark saw through it like a hot knife through butter. 

“... Go sit down, dude,” he muttered, jerking his head in the direction of the dining room table. “I’ll make your sandwich.” 

“No, I’m fine, promise -” 

“Stop promising things you know aren’t true.” It wasn't unkind, and Ethan slumped against the granite counter, knowing he wasn’t going to win. Finally, he gave a minute nod, and shakily trudged over to the table to sit down. 

Mark finished up the sandwiches quickly - working with the two for the better part of a year could’ve helped him fill up an entire notebook of useless information on them, including their sandwich preferences, and this fact _really_ helped in very specific situations such as this one - and dropped Ethan’s off in front of him. 

When he tried to wake her, Amy merely swatted at him (not unlike an angry kitten) and mumbled something about him keeping her up, so he wrapped her sandwich up and stuck it in the fridge.

“You still haven’t eaten,” Mark said when he sat down again. The water glass next to Ethan was nearly empty, and his own sandwich was wilting from the heat of the room, but Ethan still hadn’t eaten. 

Instead of the excuse Mark was expecting, his friend merely nodded. “I should eat,” he whispered, sounding far too hoarse for the cheerful mood they had not thirty minutes ago. “I - I need it to live, right?” 

The way he looked up at Mark tugged at something deep inside of him - the large, pleading eyes and furrowed brow pulling at heartstrings he didn’t even know he _had_. Ethan looked downright desperate for him to agree, and it killed something inside of him. 

“You nearly fell trying to make a sandwich,” he agreed, “you need to eat to live.” 

“Yeah.” Ethan glanced at his wrist. “I… I really should eat.” He picked up the water glass, lifting it to his lips with a shaky hand someone wouldn’t notice unless they were truly looking (Mark was, he always was), before setting it down without taking a sip. His fingers stayed curled around the glass, and he stared at the way his arm flexed when he moved one of them. 

Mark, while he wanted to help, wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck his arm had to do with eating, so he let it go. “That sandwich has all your favorites, man. I know you pretend to hate it but salami and cheese is genuinely one of the best combinations known to man.” 

After a beat, Ethan took a hesitant bite. And then another, followed by a third. 

Soon, the sandwich was gone, and his plate was empty. Noting the way Ethan glanced at his own plate with a hint of guilt, Mark made quick work of his food. It wasn’t hard - he was already pretty hungry after not eating since six that morning - and he squeezed Ethan’s shoulder warmly as he passed to pick up his plate. 

God, if he was that hungry after seven hours, he couldn’t imagine not eating for longer periods - especially if he was active during that period, as opposed to sitting on the couch and watching movies. He was surprised Ethan hadn’t inhaled his lunch. 

Ethan was still sitting at the table, a death grip around his empty glass of water, when Mark came back, so he squeezed his shoulder again and guided him up out of the chair. “Come on, let’s get back to the movies, yeah?” That seemed to snap his friend out of whatever funk he was in, and he sped to the couch to get the good spot with the dogs, much to Mark’s playful annoyance. It was fine, Ethan deserved to have dog time. 

Amy was awake when he sat down on the couch, anyway, so he wouldn’t be _entirely_ alone. 

“Hey,” she murmured, just loud enough for only him to hear over the movie as she curled into Mark’s side. 

“Hi,” he smiled. Amy smiled back, and the fuzzy warmth from earlier that morning returned.

“Saw what you did, with lunch.” Ethan giggled at a bit in the movie, and they both glanced over at him at the same time. “That was nice.” 

Mark just shrugged and threw a blanket over them both. “He needed it.” Not knowing what else to say, the conversation ended with that, and he relaxed into the warmth all around him. 

It was nice - spending time with his two favorite people and three favorite dogs, even if they did lick at his face and bark at every doorbell noise in the movies (which, seeing as they were mostly Hallmark Christmas movies, happened a _lot_ ) - and if Ethan reached over and intertwined their fingers at some point, or he returned the gesture a _tad_ bit too enthusiastically, or even if Amy gave him that same odd look from the front door that morning, mixed with a touch of fondness, well, they didn’t need to talk about it. They were simply enjoying a slow Saturday with each other, and that’s all that mattered. 

At least, that’s what the mind-numbing array of Hallmark movies said mattered, anyway, and that was good enough for Mark right then.


	15. Uno

Ethan had forgotten how hard it was to get dressed on days like this. 

His joints ached when he eventually rolled himself out of bed at noon - timed in a way to let him skip breakfast - and his breathing stuttered as he stood on shaky legs. The clothes lying on the chair, crumpled with days worth of neglect and abuse, would probably be his best bet if he didn’t want to keel over and just about die, but his own vanity forced him to trudge over to his closet and pull out something that wouldn’t make him look like a complete slob. Even if it wouldn’t be an accurate portrayal of how he felt inside. 

In short, it was a nightmarish event that took far too long to be worth the effort, and Ethan skipped it most days. 

He hadn’t meant to get this bad again, really. There was no delusion in his mind - no doubt about how awful this fucking _thing_ was. No excuses, no convenient explanations involving “diets” and “fasting.” He was ill, but he was getting better. 

Until he wasn’t. 

With the added stress of the holidays, working to start his own projects, and a new sense of isolation as he lost the near-daily human contact that Unus Annus provided, he hadn’t picked up the best eating habits. 

Eating habits as in scarfing down thousands of calories of shit he didn’t even _like_ just to spend hours hunched over the toilet. 

It was fine, though. It was cool. He was under control. And then he checked the scale. 

The number flashing back at him wasn’t what he was expecting, honestly. It was simultaneously lighter and heavier than he was imagining it would be, in the weird way that this disorder had fucked with his perception of food and weight, and he had very conflicting feelings about it. On one hand, he was expecting to be a _lot_ heavier after that much stress-eating, and it wasn’t like his weight even reflected on his character _anyway_. On the other, he was still mentally ill.

Body positivity didn’t do _shit_ when you were mentally ill. 

So instead of confronting this issue like an adult and working to curb his binge habits to be a healthier individual overall, he turned to the only other coping mechanism he had at the moment and re-opened his “dieting” app. 

The pop-up message about accountability didn’t help him much. 

So, no, he really hadn’t meant to fall back into this. To work through meal times on “accident” and keep a log of his weight that updated five times a day, as though he would have somehow gained (or lost) seventeen pounds from the hours of two to five. Especially after all of the bullshit positivity posts he had choked down and awkward attempts from Mark and Amy to get him to eat a fucking sandwich. 

But here he was anyway, hands shaking as he tried to button up his pants. 

_“So you’re going to come over at five, right?”_ Mark’s voice crackled out of his phone, left face-up on the dresser as he finally got changed for the day, to confirm their semi-weekly hangout. _”Amy’s making a charcuterie board - I’m so excited.”_

Ethan winced at the mention of the board, knowing those things could be hell to make, and pulled the collar of the shirt down from over his face so he could speak. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Tell her to portion for two, though.” He glanced over at Spencer, and needing a quick topic change so Mark didn’t spend too long on his statement, grabbed the phone and pointed it at the dog. “Can Spencer come, too? I’d hate to leave him here.” 

There was a brief silence on the other side of the line, and then Mark’s camera turned on. His concerned gaze took up most of the screen, and even though it was _slightly_ off, like the man was looking at his screen rather than the camera, Ethan still felt like he was being scrutinized. Mark couldn’t even see him - his camera was still pointed at Spencer. 

_“Portion for two?”_ His friend echoed, completely skipping over his question like he knew he would. _”I thought you liked charcuterie boards.”_

Knowing he couldn’t lie about that as Mark would probably cite the conversation they had not even a week ago bonding over the stupid things, Ethan sighed. “I do! I just… Don’t want one today.” 

Another silence followed, and Mark’s eyebrows furrowed. _”You… don’t want one today? Like you’re not feeling it, or…?”_

The unspoken question hung in the air, and Ethan cleared his throat. “Just - ask Amy to only make enough for you two, please? I don’t want her wasting anything.” 

_”Ethan -”_

“Spencer and I’ll be over at five.” He hung up before Mark could say anything else, and threw his phone on the bed with a shaky sigh. Fuck, he hoped the older man wasn’t mad. 

Ignoring the notifications that popped up on his phone (refusing to respond to them, anyway - he couldn’t resist reading them and froze up for a minute when the word “relapse” caught his attention), he continued getting ready, giving Spencer his food while giving the kitchen a wide berth, and trying to make himself look presentable in the bathroom mirror.

It wasn’t much longer before he found himself on the doorstep of Mark’s house, Spencer’s leash rubbing harshly against his skin as he anxiously wound it around his hand. He was starting to feel a little hungry, after all of the excitement of the morning, and he really hoped Mark had passed along his message to Amy so he wouldn’t be too easily tempted to break. 

Which kind of fucking _sucked_ , considering he had really wanted a charcuterie board. But still. 

“Ethan!” Mark greeted, swinging the door open wide to let the other man in. His smile was tight around the edges, and Ethan knew he was going to want to talk about their phone call at some point. “I’m glad you’re here, Amy’s finishing up the food and then I figured we could play a few boardgames.” 

Stiffening at the mention of the food, he nodded minutely, and moved past Mark into the house. If anything, the blatant mention of a meal felt like a challenge, and even though the sizzling coming from the kitchen made his stomach growl he was determined to win. 

“So what game were you thinking of?” he asked, sitting down at the table. Mark sat down as well, and when he nudged the charcuterie board towards him, Ethan politely pushed it back to the center of the table. 

Amy arrived with a pitcher of lemonade just in time to see the interaction, and Ethan didn’t miss the glance she shared with Mark. “Uh, we were thinking of this new game - Neanderthal Poetry? We haven’t really tried it out yet. Or Cards Against Humanity, even if it’s not really a board game,” she responded, carefully setting the pitcher down and sitting at the head of the table, next to both him and Mark. “Whichever you want, they’re both great.” 

Ethan mulled over the options for a bit, before finally deciding on Neanderthal Poetry, eager to try something new for once. Amy smiled brightly while Mark groaned, and she stood up, casting a look at the other man. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, bustling off to presumably uncover the game from some closet and leaving Ethan alone with Mark.

Thinking about it, he realized that was probably their plan. 

“So…” the older man started, straightening out the plates on the table. “You haven’t eaten anything.” 

Sidestepping that extremely tactful way to allude to what he _really_ wanted to say, Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve only been here for five minutes, so y’know… Haven’t really had time to eat anything.” 

“But you won’t.” 

And there was that look - the same one he had over the phone, only amplified with the addition of eye contact and view of Mark’s twitching hands. It made him feel guilty instantly, a mix of shame and regret swirling in his stomach and shrinking his appetite. 

“No, probably not,” he said, glancing over the food. It looked amazing, and he hoped they had enough storage space with all of Mark’s expired food to save the leftovers. “I send my compliments to the chef, though.” 

“I think eating the food would come off better,” Amy commented, coming back with the game and an inflatable club cradled in her arms. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she pushed the board toward him. “Can’t tell if it’s good or not or unless you try it, right?” 

He leaned back against his chair, pointedly inspecting the club in a way that he knew failed to come off as casual, and shrugged again. “It looks good,” he deflected, “I can say that much.” 

Seemingly having nothing to say to that, Amy shrugged in response and sat down, sliding the box towards herself so she could open it. Mark glanced at him while she did, and even though Ethan knew that it wasn’t his intention, he couldn’t help but feel like his friend was mad at him for a perceived slight against his girlfriend. 

Weird world, feeling guilty for _not_ eating. 

Deciding to play it off, Ethan grabbed for the purple club and swatted at Mark, plunging all three of them back into their friendly banter. 

It was only when they were playing Uno a couple hours later that Mark brought it up again. “Your hands are pretty shaky,” he commented, obviously deciding being subtle wasn’t going to work this time. “How’re you doin’?”

“I’m doing fine.” He set down a yellow two, and gestured for Amy to go. 

“Are you sure? You still haven’t eaten.” Amy placed a draw four, and changed the color to red as Mark hissed dramatically. 

“Are _you_ sure? You sound like you’re dying over there.” 

Mark turned to him and frowned like _he_ was the irritated one. Ethan almost wanted to laugh. “I’m not joking.” 

Pointedly not making eye-contact, Ethan placed down another card and looked at Amy. She looked anxious, and he couldn’t blame her. He and Mark were making everything really fucking awkward. “I know,” he assured, trying to hopefully calm things down before they escalated any more, “but I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“I do.” Another red.

Amy glanced back and forth between them, and very casually put her cards down. “Mark, just leave him be.” 

“And what? Watch him fucking _shake_ because he’s too damn exhausted to even play cards?” 

Ethan stood up slowly, taking a deep breath and swallowing quickly to keep his mouth occupied and mind off the vile things he had half a mind to say. “Stop,” he muttered, laying his cards on the table face-down in hopes of another game. “Please _stop_ , Mark. I know you care, but _fuck_.” 

He took a step back from the table, and then shook his hands out by his sides. “I’m - I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Something flitted across Mark’s expression at the mention of a bathroom, but it vanished a second after, and not waiting for the other man to say something Ethan quickly scurried off. 

When he came back, Amy was fiddling with her sleeve anxiously, tugging at the strings peeking out from the hem and rolling the cuff over her hand. Mark didn’t look much better - completely zoned out and staring at his sweating glass of lemonade like it held the secrets of the world. 

Fuck, was losing a little bit of weight really worth all this? 

“Hi,” he coughed, sitting on the edge of his seat like it would bite him in the ass if he dared to relax any more, “can we - can we talk now?” 

Mark’s head jolted up, and when he looked at Ethan the younger man let out a shaky breath. He didn’t look angry, or even sad. Just tired and guilty. Twinsies. 

“Yeah.” He ran a hand down his face, and then turned to look at Ethan fully. “Yeah, let’s talk. Did you wanna…?” Knowing that Mark had something on his mind, he shook his head and gestured for the man to speak first. “Okay, uh. I’m sorry. I was being pushy, and that was really uncalled for.” 

“It’s fine,” Ethan assured, even if it did kind of make him want to cry, “you just care.”

Mark shook his head, then, and looked back at his lemonade. “It’s _not_ fine. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that, and I’m sorry. I want you to be happy, and watching you - just. Constantly be tired and upset and sometimes barely able to stand is fucking _scary_ , but I shouldn’t’ve yelled at you like you were some misbehaving toddler.” 

The words touched him more than he thought they would have, and he swallowed thickly to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. “Oh,” he murmured, poking at his cards on the table. Hearing Mark say it openly like that, even though he’d said it before, incited the familiar stinging behind his eyes, and he quickly rubbed at them to try and stop the tears before they fell. “Uh, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t - I didn’t mean to get this bad again and worry you guys.” 

Amy reached across the table and placed her hand on top of Ethan’s, and he quickly flipped his over so they were laying palm-to-palm. 

“I, uh, with the holidays, I…” swallowing again, he looked up at them to see if they were okay with him continuing this story, and when they nodded (in sync, no less) he let out a shaky exhale and started again. “I got really stressed, right? And I - I was _trying_ to eat more normally, I guess, so I wouldn’t keep ruining outings -”

“You never ruined anything,” Mark cut in, serious stare piercing into his very soul. “This isn’t you ruining things, this is you needing help that I - we - are happy to give.” 

The stinging started up again, and he quickly looked up at the ceiling and blinked to make up for the loss of the hand Amy was holding. “Fuck, dude, don’t get sappy on me,” he chuckled, throwing Mark a watery, if embarrassed, smile when the tears had receded. “Anyway, I, uh, I started eating more. And - and then there was the whole… Holiday season. Um, and to cope I just started… eating.” He took a shaky breath, and squeezed Amy’s hand. 

He knew it was nothing to be ashamed of - if anything he should be scared of how serious his problem was - but he didn’t want to admit to his binge habits. Not because it meant he was mentally ill or any other normal, reasonable reason - he just didn’t want them to judge him for eating that much. 

Letting out a bitter laugh at the thought, he forced himself to continue on. “I got into this cycle of bingeing, and then I couldn’t deal with knowing I ate so I’d…” Not knowing how to phrase that particular scene in a dinner-table-appropriate manner, he trailed off, hoping they got the message.

“Oh,” Mark hummed, the new wave of concern in his voice showing that he had, indeed, gotten the whole vomit-memo. “Fuck, Eth…” 

“I know! I know it’s bad, and it’s gross, but… I don’t know.” 

“It’s not gross,” Amy tried, but the withering stare she received from Ethan cut her off. “Okay, maybe a little gross, but that’s okay.” 

Mark reached over and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and Ethan leaned into the touch, grateful for the grounding contact. “It’s okay, Ethan. You relapsed, and that’s - well, not _fine_ \- but we’re gonna get through this, yeah? Amy and I are here for you, whenever you need. And not because we feel obligated,” he quickly added, before Ethan could retort. “I - I know I haven’t been handling this the best, but we’ll figure it out.” 

Still a little shaken by how casually Mark uttered the “r-word” when he couldn’t even bring himself to think about it, Ethan nodded slowly and leaned even further into the hand on his shoulder. Mark quickly drew him in for a side hug, and he let himself be dragged, falling limply against the older man’s side and into the warmth of his body. If his shoulder jabbed painfully into his side, Mark didn’t say anything. 

“Okay,” he finally said, after a minute of collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, okay. Can I - can I say something that might ruin the moment?” 

“Of course.”

“Uh - could you please not… comment on what I’m eating, in the future? I know you care, but it usually just makes me feel worse.” He took a deep breath, a little guilty about ruining the fuzzy mood they had built up, but knowing it needed to be said. “I’m sorry -”

Mark pulled him away from his side a little - just enough to fully look at him, but not enough so that their bodies were still more or less flush - and tilted his head. “Ethan, don’t be sorry. I want to help you as best as I can. I should be thanking you, honestly, for helping me out here - I should know better.” 

“Mark, what the fuck.” Now it was Ethan’s turn to cut his friend off, and at his shocked stare he pushed even farther away to sit up fully. “You’re not a therapist - stop acting like one. You’re just my friend, dude, that’s all I need from you. I don’t need you to go all leather chair and notepad on me.” His own words sparked a realization in him, and he smacked his hand on the table. “Wait, that’s probably why we’ve been fighting so much!”

Amy hummed at that comment, and when he turned to her she squeezed his hand again, giving him a comforting smile. “Speaking of, have you thought about going to therapy? I think it could really help you, Eth.”

It felt as though a bucket of ice water had been tipped over his head - he was well-acquainted with the feeling after so many challenge videos - and he stiffened noticeably. “Uh. I mean, no. I - I probably should, but…” 

But he didn’t want to tell a stranger yet. But he didn’t want an official diagnosis pinned to him like a target on his back. But he didn’t want to see pity and scorn in their eyes when he, an adult male, claimed to have problems eating. But, but, but.  
“It’s okay,” Mark said instead, replacing the hand on his shoulder with one that rubbed soothing circles in his back. “No one’s forcing you. But you should, as soon as you can.”

He was right, of course - he was going to have to face the music eventually, and find a professional willing to listen. If only so that he stopped turning his friends into impromptu therapists that he forced to listen to his problems. 

Probably noticing his sorry state, Amy squeezed his hand again and let go, picking up her cards once more. “In the meantime,” she said, a competitive grin on her face, “I think I was beating you two at Uno.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ack sorry for the hiatus on this chapter! with the holiday oneshots and. holidays themselves this kinda got pushed to the side lsjg
> 
> and. thank you, for all of the comments you guys have been leaving. i _really_ appreciate them, even if i've been a douche and let them accumulate in my inbox. as soon as i have the time, i'll work on responding  
> but until then, just know that i see them and cry a little bit at how sweet they are kjgh  
> thank you, again <33


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